


Felix Culpa

by Jules_In_Neverland



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Angst, Corobin, Drama, Loss of leg, Multi, Rape, Romance, Royal Air Force, Slow Burn, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-04-29 19:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 51,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14479665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules_In_Neverland/pseuds/Jules_In_Neverland
Summary: Flight Lieutenant Cormoran Strike has his own baggage. The older of five siblings, with a father that killed his mother and a dark past behind him, there's nothing he loves more than flying planes. Robin Ellacott is a psychologist volunteering in Afghanistan for the UK's Armed Forces, also trying to leave a dark past behind, both unsuccessfully trying to just move on. When their different personalities collide blossoming in a highly-valued friendship, they'll be forced to decide between being stuck in an unhappy past, or moving on, welcoming love and letting their wounds heal, but it's not an easy path when your past catches up with you.





	1. A story begins

**Author's Note:**

> Please, keep in mind that this is Alternative Universe. I've taken a lot of freedom with these characters and their stories and only a few things ressemble the books, such as the chores of their personalities, a bit of their career paths, a bit of their families... their appearances are described mixing up the book and the TV show.
> 
> Also, I've taken the freedom to remove Greg and make Lucy gay because I just feel she'd be great with another woman, and I've made Strike's relationship with her siblings more closer because of how their pasts are in this story. I hope you like it!

A part of the United Kingdom’s Royal Air Force lived in coexistence with the Army and the NAVY in the military base outside Kabul, Afghanistan. It was March 2002 and the strawberry-blonde woman that sat on a chair outside her tent eating a sandwich had been there for the past four months instead of planning a wedding that had also been on the works for the same amount of time. Robin had considered it romantic how her boyfriend of then eight years had gone down on one knee as they ate dinner in an expensive restaurant in Masham her last night there before she went to volunteer in the psychologist branch of the Army Medical Corps in Afghanistan. Now Matthew was far away and Robin was in a place that looked little like home, far too warm and deserted, to try to help the soldiers there so their minds wouldn’t break. She wasn’t a supporter of this war, as she wasn’t a supporter of violence nor the cruelty she had seen, but she also wasn’t willing to let the bravest men and women she had ever known shot themselves the minute they stepped back home due to how wrecked their minds were. Damn documentaries that inflicted such terror in her innocent mind.

Robin coughed as a wave of smoke got to her nose and she looked at the offended cigarette that made her sandwich taste of ashes for one moment. The cigarette was expertly held by a man so tall and broad it was intimidating. He wore a camouflage uniform with the British flag on the sleeve and he looked at the sky in a contemplative manner that made Robin curious for a moment. His dark hair was so extremely short it almost counted as being bold, and his face was neatly shaven clean, not one hair. He had suggestive lips with a scar that indicated leporine lip, square jaw, round face, Roman nose, a sullen expression of crossness, hairy dark eyebrows, and dark eyes that with the sun hitting his face, seemed to be dark green. His hands were big with long fingers, his arms, sleeves rolled to the elbows, were strong and dark-haired, and his boots huge, which added to the impression of a giant.

“Excuse me!” Robin yelled towards him to get his attention. He looked at her with a serious expression but, despite the roughness of it, his eyes seemed kind and soft. “Excuse me, can you smoke somewhere else? My sandwich tastes of ashes now.” The man snorted a laugh, amused, and gave a long puff of his fag before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it. Robin could now see ‘Strike’ written on his chest and a navy blue beanie under one of his armpits, like the ones the RAF wore.

The man, Strike, walked towards her while putting on the beanie and stood with a neutral expression and his lips curved slightly upwards in a side smirk, near her.

“Sorry for ruining your sandwich, but this isn’t quite the best location to eat one,” said Strike with a soft voice that seemed unlike him. Robin narrowed her eyes to look at him without the sun blinding her blue-gray sensitive eyes.

“Oh, really?” Robin responded sarcastically. “Damn, here I was thinking it was ideal, with the blinding sun, the rough desert, and the constant smell of sweat.” She added in a comedic tone. Strike smiled at her sarcasm and nodded.

“I’m Cormoran Strike, by the way. Flight Lieutenant,” he offered her a hand, that she shook with a small smile.

“Robin Ellacott, volunteer.”

“Volunteer?” Strike raised an eyebrow. “Are you nuts?” Robin snorted a laugh.

“In the Medical Corps. People tend to say it’s _honourable_.”

“Yeah, nutters,” Strike shrugged and Robin rolled eyes with an amused smile. “So the Medical Corps, uh? You don’t look like a doctor.”

“I’m a psychologist,” said Robin. “I lack a PhD, though.”

“A _psychologist_ ,” Strike sighed, shaking his head. “What a pity.”

“Why?” Robin looked at him with a chuckle.

“I don’t usually get along with them,” he answered with a goofy expression. Robin laughed and shook her head.

“I can see why,” Strike raised an eyebrow, questioningly. “You smoke on people’s faces, ruin sandwiches and are crazy enough to be a Flight Lieutenant. I can’t see why anyone would like you.” She joked, making him giggle softly. Robin finished her sandwich with an amused chuckle.

“Damn, a psychologist with actual sense of humour, this is not the place for endangered species,” Strike commented mockingly. Robin snorted a laugh but before she could say anything, another soldier in the far distance yelled for Strike. “Sorry, duty calls. I was a pleasure to meet you, Robin Ellacott.” He smiled at her and gave a nod towards her. Robin smiled and waved goodbye.

Unexplainably, a pang of loneliness filled her with his departure. In the months spent there, she had made no friends. The other volunteers were too serious and apprehensive and she felt constantly psychoanalysed, and the other soldiers seemed too rough, too impenetrable, too serious and lacking humour, for her to dare to talk. Strike, despite looking the same or even worse, had a way of effortlessly making her laugh with his sarcasm and irony that amused her and gave her the first real fun she had experienced in months.

Robin didn’t see Strike again until dinnertime two days later, as she saw alone in the far end of the canteen, looking at her sapphire ring and thinking of the handsome, fit man with hazel eyes and brown hair that waited for her in their flat in Hastings Road, Ealing London.

“Can I sit with you?” a deep voice asked behind her. Robin turned around and smiled at the sight of the other smiling man, with his camouflage attire and his navy blue beanie.

“Sure,” Robin nodded, thankful for his company. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, I had some flying to do,” said Strike, sitting next to her with his enormous bulk next to her tall but petite frame and his tray of food. “What about you? Psychologying much these days?” Robin chuckled.

“I’m pretty sure you just invented that verb,” said Robin, and he smirked. “But no; most of your guys seem to think I’m too young to be of any use. I’m thinking of going back home.”

“Pity, I was starting to like you,” said Strike with a shrug. Robin looked at him warmly.

“Oh, come on. You already like me.” Strike laughed with a nod.

“Why are you here so lonely?” asked Strike looking around, seeing there was no one sitting anywhere close.

“Your mates make jokes of things that aren’t funny at all and my mates can’t have a normal meal without talking about psychology.”

“I see...” Strike looked at her, munching some bread. “So where’s home?”

“A flat in Hastings Road, London. With my fiancé, Matthew,” said Robin with a soft smile. Strike nodded slowly.

“Lucky guy,” Robin blushed.

“Yours?” Strike shrugged and searched under the neck of his shirt, pulling out a golden ring in a silver chain that hung from his neck.

“A maisonette in Holland Park Avenue, London. My wife’s pregnant,” he added with bright eyes and a chuckle. Robin grinned.

“Really? Do you have any pictures?” Strike nodded, burying a hand in his pocket, and pulled out a printed picture of a stunning, dark-haired woman with pale skin and intimidating beautiful features standing next to a window cradling a big belly covered by her jumper.

“My Charlotte,” he added with a warm voice. “We’re naming him Edward, she choose it. He’ll be born in August, hopefully I’ll be home by then.” Robin nodded.

“She’s stunning.”

“Right?” Strike chuckled and kissed the picture. Robin observed with a grin. It was as if all his rough appeal had just come crashing down. “I’m such a lucky man. Best thing that ever happened to me. Married her on a rush in October, right before I was sent here, we weren’t even engaged but she insisted... conceived that little bunny right then.” He added with a wink. Robin blushed and shook her head, snorting a laugh. “I never wanted children much before but...” he shrugged. “It’s different with Eddie. I can’t wait to meet him, you know? Fly with him just like I’ve flown with my uncle. He’s a veteran, an Air Marshal.”

“Really?” Robin raised her eyebrows, surprised. “Do you come from a family of Air Force men?” Strike put the picture back in his pocket and nodded.

“Sort of. My maternal grandfather was Air Commodore Cormoran Strike Senior. Then Uncle Ted Strike was an Air Marshal, and then there’s me,” explained Strike. “Ted’s home now, in Cornwall. We’re all Cornish to our roots.” Robin looked surprised, and chuckled.

“Except for little Eddie,” Strike laughed.

“He’ll still be a Southern though. What about you?”

So Robin told him about her family’s farm in Masham, North Yorkshire. About Uncle Charlie’s horse-riding academy, about Clydesdale, big enough to carry Strike, about her three brothers and her fiancé. Before they knew it, they were talking until they were the only ones left in the room, both feeling more at ease opening up about their private lives with a complete stranger than with no one before. They walked around the base under the stars sharing stories of a childhood between boats and planes versus one between horses and hills, they shared some laughter and eventually, after Strike walked Robin to her tent and she sat on her bed with a faint smile, she felt the warmth inside coming back after all those long months.

However, Robin lied in bed with a hint of worry in her chest. As Strike spoke, she had noticed, as she noticed in herself, a slight restrain to get too deep into things. He had avoided mentioning his parents, although he had commented he too had many siblings, being the eldest of five, he had avoided talking about his studies or why he was in there, and Robin hadn’t pushed or interrogated, even less when she had felt the shadow of something terrible and sad in his eyes. She knew Strike, like her, carried a weight in his chest that wasn’t easy to talk about and that both of them chose to ignore, pretending it didn’t exist, refusing to mention it out-loud.

Days led to the developing of a friendship that, although it still dodged those bullets, was filled with deep trust and good laughs. They were the two weirdoes, the man that didn’t quite fit entirely into the military persona and the woman that didn’t quite fit there at all, both finding some solace and company in the other. Robin found herself comforted by Strike’s roaring laughter, his never-ending wisdom and his dark sense of humour but however, not as unappealing as his mates’ was, they lived in eternal sarcasm and irony and wicked, witty comments, and Strike felt himself attracted to Robin’s innate sincerity, compassion, kindness, sensitivity –while staying strong and collected during complicated situations, he had witnessed- and ability to find beauty in the smallest of things. The pair would go on excursions undercover to the city, buy souvenirs for their families together, drive to the beach in the free days and, when Strike went off to fly, Robin would wave at the sky every time she recognised his Panavia Tornado aircraft, that he had taught her all about, and unbeknownst to her, he would wave down every time he flew over the military base.

It was a freezing day in mid-march that Robin woke up with an uneasy feeling in her chest. She knew Strike had gone up on some sort of mission and she registered the sky for any of the few aircrafts he had described to her that he flew there, but she knew it was for nothing; they didn’t usually fly over the base and she knew this mission was in the chore of the war. The night was starting to fall when a mate of Strike, Anstis, came running to her as she walked around the base after having spoken with a client. He looked pale.

“Ellacott!” he shouted. “It’s Strike!” Robin’s eyes widened and she ran after him.

 


	2. Bird down

The pair ran into the field hospital in the base and only then did Anstis offer any kind of explanation. Apparently, hours ago Strike’s aircraft had taken five of the enemy down while his was massacred in an ambush, but he hadn’t gone down until those five had, and had landed in a ball of fire, crashing against the ground. They had thought he was surely a dead man, but when they had gone in to check, they had found him between the ruins of the boat with a weak but present heartbeat.

“He’s to be flown to a hospital in Germany tonight,” said Anstis as they walked between beds, Robin’s heart hammering inside her chest. “He’s really bad. They don’t think he’ll make it... but he said your name, you know?” Robin looked at him with a frown. “Ellacott. I heard it right, he said it... and, before you see it, you must known. He’s lost part of his left leg, half the shin down.” Robin gulped and nodded, getting into what Strike had fondly called ‘warrior mode’, her jaw set and her eyes serious as she focused on helping someone who needed her. “He’s full of burns and cuts, got a mid-concussion, broke several ribs... they said what’s worse is how much blood he’s lost. How weak he is. They couldn’t even finish surgery.”

They reached a bed where surely enough, lied Strike. He was covered in blankets to his neck, a tube down his throat and another down his nose, and cables getting lost inside the blankets. There were machines Robin didn’t understand and as she sat on a stool by his head, she noticed his face was reddish, covered in cuts and burns, dry blood still stuck to his little bit of hair. Tentatively, Robin posed a hand on his shoulder, making circles with her thumb.

“Has someone contacted his family yet?” Robin asked softly without looking at Anstis, her eyes fixed on the sleeping man on the bed.

“No,” Anstis sighed. “There’s people in London and St. Mawes, Cornwall, due to visit them in the morning. They’ll take him to London as soon as it’s possible, from Munich.” Robin nodded.

“Will you make sure, for me, that his family gets my phone number?” she looked at Anstis, standing beside her. “I’m a psychologist and I’m due to be back in London in a month. I’d like to help them cope with this, even more if he... if he dies. He’s my friend and I want to help his family for free.” Anstis nodded.

“I’ll make sure of that,” said Anstis. “I must go then... goodnight, Ellacott.”

“Goodnight,” Robin nodded and Anstis left. She leaned forward and bit her lip, looking down at the man lying there. Suddenly, the green eyes were looking at her through barely parted eyelashes, and a noise came from him as if he was trying to talk. “Sh...” Robin smiled warmly. “Don’t try to talk, save your energy, okay?” she said softly, holding back from stroking his cheek, afraid of hurting him. “You’re going to be fine, Cormoran. Just hold in there, you need to take care of yourself, stay strong,” she fixed her eyes on his, as he stopped trying to communicate. “I’ll look after your family, I promise. My contract ends in a month and then I’ll get there, and I will be in London and help your family anyway I can, so you just worry about yourself. You’re going home to Eddie, Corm. You’re going home.” She gulped a knot in her throat and observed as he tried to stay awake, blinking, and then fell asleep again.

**. . .**

Strike was taken to Munich hours later, still alive, still too stubborn to die. For the little information Robin managed to get the next few days, he was now stable in the hospital and would be taken to London in a week. The remaining month of her contract was the longest month of all the months spent in Kabul and Robin couldn’t wait to be home, to kiss her groom, to visit her friend and see he was way better than she imagined. He had to be.

In mid April, she flew back to London without letting her family know. Robin intended to surprise Matthew, and by the time her taxi stopped in front of her flat in the middle of a rainfall, her heart was drumming and she couldn’t stop grinning. She took her bag and her suitcase and ran to the door, opening it with her key. Before she could shout ‘Guess who’s home?!’ she heard loud moaning, loud _sex_ and her grin disappeared. Slowly, she walked down the long corridor and opened the door to her bedroom. Her jaw fell as she saw Matthew, her fiancé, balls deep in his friend, England’s most hated woman Sarah Shadlock, blonde splashed nude on the bed. Matthew cursed and jumped off the bed, grabbing a pillow to cover his hard-on and blushing deeply. Sarah screamed and pulled from the bed sheets to cover her body. Robin felt her eyes fill with tears as her heart shattered in her chest and looked at Matthew angrily.

“R-Robin, love...” Matthew started. “It’s so good to see you... this is not... this isn’t what you think...”

“How can you be such a heartless jerk?” Robin murmured with a trembling voice. She removed her engagement ring with shaking hands and threw it to his face, satisfied to hit his forehead, which elicited a shout in pain. “We’re done! Go fuck your whore, by all means.”

Robin turned around, grabbed her things, and went to the street again, gulping. Since she hadn’t quite lived in London yet, she had nothing to pick up from the flat, all her belongings waited in Masham. It was mid-afternoon, it was raining hard, and she was in a city she had only visited a couple times before, with no friends there and nowhere to go. She called a taxi, found an hotel in her phone, and gave the driver the address.

That night, she cried like she hadn’t cried in months. She blocked Matthew’s number and the number of every one of his family members, she called her parents, she got drunk, and she thanked heavens the farm business was going well and her family could make a deposit into her account so she could sustain herself for a while. So after a whole day moping in the hotel, the next afternoon she went to visit Strike at Queen Mary’s Hospital, willing herself to be the soldier she had learned to be, not the weak girlfriend. Robin wore her favourite jumper and jeans, her long beige coat, and bought an umbrella. She did her make-up and made sure to look nice, and she took the bus to Roehampton Ln.

Lucy Strike, Cormoran’s eldest sister and the closest to him, had been the one to call Robin, two weeks after her brother was taken down. As Strike had described to Robin once, Lucy was motherly to him, despite being twenty-one months younger than him, and she was easy to hyper-worry, freak out, and be overly controlling. However, she had a kind heart and was soft and nice to Robin. Upon hearing she was visiting, she had been so excited and happy, and Robin didn’t have to ask at the entrance desk for the room number to know where she had to go.

As she stood in front of the room holding a basket of Cornish products with a ‘Get Well’ card inside of it, Robin felt nervous. She could hear some voices inside and she felt far away from the moment she had caught Matthew sleeping with someone else. She knocked on the door and heard some steps before the door opened just enough to show a tall brunette woman with pale blue eyes and a square jaw that smiled kindly at her despite the enormous bags under her eyes.

“You must be Robin,” Robin nodded with a little smile. “I’m Lucy.” They shook hands and Lucy moved aside opening the door further for her to come in.

Robin cautiously entered a room with more people than she expected. From Strike’s descriptions he recognized his twin sisters Gabrielle and Danielle, both with clear blue eyes and light brown hair falling graciously in waves, and Alexander, the youngest of them all, sitting next to them looking like another twin, although his hair was short, his features the most attractive, and he had slight stubble. As Lucy introduced her, Robin recognized Ted and Joan, a couple in their fifties with Ted looking like an older, fat version of Strike and Joan much petite and soft-featured next to him. There were a few people she didn’t know that looked about Strike’s age and finally her eyes locked with Strike’s. He was in bed, a short dark, curly beard and a mane of unruly dark curls making him almost unrecognizable to her, his skin so pale in contrast, his eyes tired and a small smile upon seeing her. Strike was free of machines now, although he had an IV and there was a bandage on his forehead. His skin looked to have healed up almost fully.

“Hi,” she smiled looking at the group before looking at Strike again. “Dude, that’s your face when you don’t smoke for too long?” she joked, knowing he liked to break tension with humour. He immediately chuckled.

“I had more freedom in the RAF,” Strike joked. “You look great.” His eyes had already seen the absence of the sapphire ring, but he knew explanations would come in the right moment.

“Thanks,” Robin put the basket on his night-stand. “This didn’t come from Kabul, so don’t fear.” She added with a chuckle. Strike looked appreciative.

“Taste of Cornwall,” Strike read the sticker. “Thank you, there was no need...”

“Please, take my seat,” Alexander offered getting up so she’d take the chair he was sitting it. Robin thanked him sitting down and Al went to stand nearby. “I’m Al, by the way.”

“Oh yeah, Cormoran described you with sharp accuracy,” Robin smiled.

“How’re things in Afghanistan?” asked Strike. “I haven’t gotten even a bit of info.”

“Uh...” Robin shrugged. “Cold. Sandy. You know... psychologists don’t get to know about the missions I’m afraid, but they seem in good mood.” Strike nodded slowly. “They won’t stop talking about the great feat of, how did they call you...? oh, yeah, the Falcon,” Robin chuckled. “Took five down with a burning aircraft.”

“Highly irresponsible and stupid, which is exactly that the youngsters worship these days,” Strike snorted a laugh. “I don’t remember it, to be honest. Last I know, we were at the beach, you and I.” Robin sighed.

“Then you’ve forgotten a few days, but well... better remember only the good things, right?”

“Indeed,” Ted smiled at her. “Cormoran said you’re a volunteer, right? Family must be happy to see you back!”

“Oh well, I haven’t seen them yet. I’ve got some things to take care of in London before I head to visit them in Masham. Where’s Charlotte, how’s Eddie?” she looked at Strike with a smile that vanished upon seeing his sullen expression. “Shit no...”

“She’s fine,” Strike answered seeing what she was thinking. “As for Eddie, don’t worry. He never existed. She was never pregnant. She lied.” Robin scowled.

“She lied?! About that?” Strike nodded.

“Fake belly. We’re over now, for good.”

“Christ, I’m s...”

“Don’t be,” Strike shook his head. “We hadn’t been well for a long time. Anyone here can speak tons of trash about her, she wasn’t... she was prettier outside than inside, you know? I should’ve known this was just another strategy for me to quit the RAF. She wouldn’t have been a good mother and I can’t take care of anyone right now so...”

“She’s still a bitch,” Robin said feeling hatred towards Charlotte, despite having not met her. Lucy snorted a laugh.

“That’s what I’ve been saying for years,” said Lucy. “At least she’s gone now.”

“We were trying to pretend sadness for him,” Gabrielle commented with half a smile. “But it’s so nice she’s gone, to be honest.”

“I see,” Robin side smiled slightly.

“Are you getting married soon, Robin?” Joan asked with a kind expression. “Corm said you were engaged.”

“Oh well,” Robin let a long breath out, strangely not feeling as bad about the reminder as she thought she would be.

“She’s not anymore,” said Strike. “Right?” he murmured, looking cautious at her. Robin nodded.

“You’ve always had a sharp eye,” commented Robin. “No, it’s all right,” she added interrupting Joan as the woman was going to apologise. “Caught the bastard fucking someone else. It’s fine, better now than when married and to be honest, not having seen him in five months does help.”

“What a dickhead,” Al snorted a laugh. “You aren’t precisely ugly, one doesn’t just throw you away.”

“Oh but he’s the kind of person to see a Van Gogh and say it’s trash, so...” Robin laughed.

As conversation went on Robin learned the others there were Strike’s best friends Nick, Ilsa and Dave, that the first two were married and that the other person was Gwen, Lucy’s fiancée, they would marry in August. They all chatted amicably with ease for an hour and then, as Strike ate his dinner, he informed Robin he was much better now, just healing his brain and trying for his leg to ‘re-grow’, he joked.

“So did the RAF send you here to psychoanalyse me?” Strike asked jokingly.

“Come on Cormoran, weren’t you listening? I’m homeless and don’t have a penny, I’m not psychoanalysing you for free,” Robin joked darkly, but getting him to smile a little. However, she did get serious then. “I sent myself here because I was worried sick about you. I saw you before they sent you to Munich, they weren’t thinking you’d make it to London alive, you know? But I knew you’d prove them wrong.” Strike nodded, his head leant back against the soft, white pillow. He was wearing a navy blue sleeveless shirt that revealed strong, muscled-up arms, pale and covered in dark mane.

“Thank you then. You’re a good friend,” Strike reached a hand to pat her knee. “If you need some money, I can lend you, by the way.”

“It’s okay,” Robin shrugged and sighed. “I guess I’ll go back to Masham, get a job that pays. Maybe get a PhD, we’ll see. For now I’ll just stick around London, my family lent me some money when they heard what happened... initially the Medical Corps were supposed to just fat up my curriculum a little so I could work In London and live with Matthew in his flat. He said his job could keep us both afloat while I found something, but well... I’ll think of option B. What about you, is the RAF offering another job?”

“Oh, tons of them,” Strike sighed, his arms resting with his hands on his lap. “I rejected them all though... I think I want to be a pilot of commercial planes now. I don’t know...” he looked at Robin. “I may not, who knows. For now I need to focus on walking again... the doctor said I may be suitable for a prosthetic in a year or so... and in the meantime, I’ve got a pension and big savings so I should be fine.”

“You should come back to St. Mawes, Cormoran,” Ted suggested. The room looked cosy now, as the light was dimly against the cream walls and the sky was purple outside the windows. “Stay with us until you can manage on your own better. You still have an important head injury.” He looked serious at his nephew through his glasses, but his voice sounded kind and soft.

“I need to be near the hospital for rehab, uncle,” Strike reasoned, shaking his head. “I can manage on my own, they won’t let me out of here until I can.”

“You could stay with us,” Nick offered. “We have a guest room, I’m finishing up my General Practitioner training, I can help out. Besides, our guest room is in the ground floor, no stairs.” He seemed to have a big house.

“That’s a good offer, see?” Strike accepted, looking thankful at his friends. “You sure it’s all right?”

“Of course,” Ilsa nodded in support of her husband’s idea. “It’ll be like when we did sleepovers!” she grinned. Strike snorted a laugh and shook his head.

“Well if you’re staying with Nick and Ilsa, then Robin, you could stay with Gwen and I. We live in Elephant & Castle, we have a guest room with bathroom and all,” Lucy suggested looking at Robin, who looked surprised. “I mean, for free. You said you had nowhere to go right?”

“For real?” Robin’s tone of voice got higher with excitement and Lucy giggled, nodding.

“We’ve been meaning to do something with that room, is always so empty and depressing,” Gwen chuckled. She was tall, thin, with brown-blonde hair and dark, warm brown eyes. “And we’re both teachers, so we’re not in the flat much, so all yours.”

“You truly don’t mind?” Robin asked, still in disbelief. Both girls insisted. “Okay, but I’ll pay the rent when I find a job, all right? I’d feel bad not to.”

“You can pay a third of it when the time comes,” Lucy rolled eyes with a chuckle. “But by all means, we’re well-paid and Stick’s friends are our friends. We’d love to lend a hand.”

“I’ll make you a copy of the keys first thing tomorrow,” Gwen offered excitedly.

“Thank you so, so very much,” said Robin, grinning. “I can’t even... thank you, really. It’s so nice of you.” Strike smiled looking at them. He was glad someone would be helping Robin out for him.


	3. Darkness

The rainfall drummed against the room’s windows with strength as Strike snored away in his sleep and Ilsa dozed off on the sofa. Robin had offered to stay the night, but Ilsa had come ready for it and Robin hadn’t, besides, the longer she took to grab her things and head to Elephant & Castle, the more she’d be paying for the hotel, so Lucy and Gwen had driven her to pick up her things and then back to the flat in Elephant & Castle. It wasn’t a huge flat and it was on a second floor without a lift, but it proved to be pretty comfortable and cosy, and Robin’s room was of a decent size, with a big bed and a nice en-suite bathroom. Gwen and Lucy also seemed a very nice company.

Robin was deep asleep in her first night back in a decent bed. She had practically fallen asleep the moment she touched the mattress, and despite having gotten used to a light sleep when she was in Afghanistan, now she slept profoundly and peacefully, snoring lightly and drooling against the pillow, until a scream woke her up. At first she thought she had dreamed it, but then she heard crying in the other side of the wall and she jumped out of bed, walking quickly through the dark sitting-room to Lucy and Gwen’s door. She knocked twice.

“Is everything all right?” she asked twice, and opened the door. She found Lucy sitting up in bed, crying hugging her knees, and Gwen sitting next to her, her arms wrapped around Lucy. It was Gwen who looked up at Robin, who observed the scene deep in concern.

“Sorry we woke you up,” said Gwen apologetically. “It’s just... Lucy has nightmares lately, about Cormoran. Sometimes they really freak her out,” she kissed the top of Lucy’s head, rubbing her back up and down. “It’s okay love, he’s fine. He’s safe.”

“I’ll make some tea,” Robin offered, leaving the room. Lucy’s tragic cried echoed while the kettle boiled but stopped while Robin filled three mugs generously and walked back inside the master bedroom, sitting on the feet of the bed over the pale-gray and blue duvet, putting the tray with the mugs and some cookies next to her. Lucy was now washing her eyes with a tissue while Gwen murmured comforting nothings and kissed her shoulder.

“Thanks,” Lucy said hoarsely, looking up and smiling a little. “I’m sorry I wake you up.”

“Don’t,” Robin handed them their cups. “Better now?” she asked as Lucy took a long sip. Lucy nodded, her eyes swollen. “Must’ve been a terrible nightmare.”

“It was,” said Lucy. Her long brown hair was entangled and thrown back in a messy bum, and she slept on a lilac t-shirt and gray pants. She leaned back against the headboard, the pillows cushioning her back, and cradled the mug between her hands. “I really care about Stick, you know?” she said in a small voice. “We don’t have the same fathers,” Robin’s eyebrows raised, surprised. “He’s the son of Jeff Whittaker and Leda Strike. Me and the rest of my siblings are children of Leda and Richard Fantoni. Mum and Jeff were never married,” she murmured, looking down, “and mum left him when Stick was just seven months old, Auntie Joan said mum caught him repeatedly stabbing the crib around Stick while he slept, mum caught him and got furious, of course, she took him and they left... that’s how Stick got his cut. It’s not a leporine lip.”

“Shit...” Robin frowned. Lucy nodded.

“Mum was never very lucky with men, and yet the two she had are sweet, good men, nothing like their fathers. Because then, she went on to marry dad, he was a general surgeon, he travelled a lot for work, working in different hospitals in the eighties... so I was born in St. Mawes and two years later, my sisters in Liverpool and in the 84, Al came in Norwich. We’ve lived in so many places... mum would always work in anything she could find, and we never saw dad, ‘cause he worked so much and he didn’t like being in the house. He didn’t care much for his children. So Stick took his place, cared for us, was the one who was always there when our parents were busy working and he made any squat, flat, house... feel like home.”

“Sounds like a good brother,” Robin smiled softly. She knew that as nonsensical as her talk seemed, Lucy’s words needed to get out. Sometimes it was like that, someone just rambled until they felt better and one just had to listen.

“The best,” Lucy smiled softly, taking another sip of her tea. “I was nine when mum left dad and we went back to St. Mawes, and it was nice then. Three wonderful years, just us with Ted and Joan and mum, and you should see St. Mawes... it’s a fucking paradise in there. But then dad got a judge to force mum to share custody with him, even though we didn’t care about him in the slightest. But he had custody of all five of us, so we had to come back to London and he’d pretend to give a shit. Then a couple years later...” she gulped, and shook her head. “Jeff found mum, when she was coming home from work. We didn’t see her for three days and then they found her. May 12th 1990, the fucking bastard had knifed her to death and then hung himself in his flat. I was eleven years old and Al was only six. Stick was thirteen so, dad got the custody of us and then it went downhill.” Her voice had turned hoarse. Robin contemplated her for a moment, and when she seemed to have gotten stuck in her memories, decided to intervene.

“What happened then, Lucy?” Lucy looked up at her, as if remembering she was there, and nodded.

“I don’t know,” Lucy breathed out. Gwen kept an arm around her shoulders and used the other to move her own tea to her lips. “Stick and I were very close. It was us, then the twins went mostly their own way, and Al was like, a shared baby between us. The five of us are very close, always have, but between Stick and I it was special. Both from St. Mawes, both raised together... we can’t remember a day in which the other wasn’t there, but we do remember life before our siblings came. I know him well... and he was always so witty, smart, happy. He’s so much like mum... so kind-hearted, always laughing no matter how shitty a day was, always cheering everyone up, helping with homework, cracking the best jokes, intelligent beyond limits, loud, cheerful, the most loving, caring, affectionate boy...” Robin frowned. She wouldn’t exactly call Strike the soul of a party and she didn’t recall having been touched by Strike other than to have a pat or a handshake. “And then after mum died, everyone was so depressed and he was already so changed. So... quiet. Serious. Sullen. He had been doing boxing, so he kept doing that, but then he came home and barely spoke a word with no one, he freaked out if anyone touched him, didn’t seem to care about us anymore. And dad seemed to be always in a bad mood and discharging on him, shouting at him, yelling... he’d try with the rest of us, but Stick always stood in the middle. Never let him have a bad word with us. I knew dad slapped him sometimes, I heard them shout at each other while we were all in bed... but I didn’t know there was more. I told Ted and Joan and they tried to get our custody, but the judge wouldn’t let them, said we were fine with our dad.”

“Son of a...” Robin muttered without being able to stop herself. Lucy snorted a laugh, and the rain drummed stronger against the walls.

“That’s not all,” Gwen said.

“Years later,” said Lucy, “before Stick’s eighteenth birthday, I came home from class. Al was going to a friend’s house, the twins had after school’s activities, Stick was in boxing, dad was at work. I was supposed to be alone in the house and I thought I was, but then I went into the kitchen and there was Stick, on the floor, surrounded by so much blood,” Robin felt her face lose colour and her heart jumped a beat. She came from a loving family and she couldn’t imagine someone would do that to their own children. “Stick was passed out, the doctors said he had been beaten up really bad, almost bleed out to death because dad had stabbed him in the stomach. It was easy to have him arrested when no one else had keys to the house, no one had forced themselves in, my siblings and I had been seen at class, and dad hadn’t been seen at work during the time of the attack. Stick would only talk to Joan then, he couldn’t face men, so Ted would care for us. And Stick told Joan Rick had been hitting him since they went to live with him, because he wasn’t his real son. Stick didn’t know he wasn’t a Fantoni, we all had the surname then, until he was arrested and we changed it back. He didn’t know he was adopted by Fantoni, he didn’t know his own father killed his mum, and apparently after mum died he told Stick and he also said Stick was to blame for the divorce, that it was all on him and that he was going to pay for what his dad had done to mum, so he’d beat him every time he felt like, he’d tie him up and would beat the shit out of him until he got tired, like a sack.”

“That’s why he doesn’t like being touched,” murmured Robin. Lucy nodded, sipping her mug of tea.

“His girlfriend, Tracey, left him shortly after mum died because of that. She told me later that he shouted at her if she touched him,” explained Lucy, finishing her tea. “We went to St. Mawes then, lived with Ted and Joan ever since. Then Stick left for the RAF, the moment he was twenty-one. My brother,” she looked at Robin with glassy eyes, “died the day mum died. He’s never been remotely like he was, you know? But he was happy in the RAF. He loved flying, he loved those planes, he found a new way of being happy, he was fine... and now,” she took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “Charlotte and war have stolen him away again and I’m afraid this time he won’t be so fine anymore, you know? I’m so scared of what might happen to him now...” she sighed, looking down at her empty cup. “He’s been the best brother and he’s always protected us and put us first, and now... he doesn’t deserve this... he doesn’t... and just because his heart beats, it doesn’t mean he’s alive, Robin.”

Lucy left the mug on the tray and let Gwen’s arms engulf her, her kisses soothe her down. Robin observed, shocked and stunned, and brought the empty mugs back to the kitchen before getting back to the master bedroom and sitting on the spot she had vacated before, gathering her thoughts up.

“Listen, Lucy,” Lucy separated from her fiancée and looked at Robin with attention. “I know you can’t help worrying about Cormoran, but trust me, he’s going to be all right. I’m not going to let him sink. But I want you to know I’m here for you too, okay? I’m here and I understand you’re going through stuff too, and you don’t have to pretend to be a rock for everyone. You’re no longer kids having to brave up for one another.”

“Thank you, Robin,” Lucy leaned forward and hugged her tight. “We’re here for you too.” She murmured against her ear. Robin closed her eyes and squeezed her tight.


	4. You're free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike deals with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Strike hadn’t been listening to the conversation for a while. After another bad night, he felt exhausted and he couldn’t quite follow on the reason while Robin was laughing, head thrown back, and Nick was doing a funny voice. He was sitting up on his bed, his back supported on so many pillows it felt like a cloud, and he wasn’t feeling in his best mood. It had been difficult, waking up in Germany all alone and seeing no leg. He still preferred not to see it. His nights filled with nightmares every single time, and he felt himself tired every day, his smiles not quite reaching his eyes, happy to be alive but not knowing how to be alive.

His sudden snores interrupted the animate chat and Robin chuckled seeing they had bored the man to sleep. Nick, a man as tall as Strike, fit, with receding short brown hair and brown eyes, elf-like ears and a long face with marked jaw, put his arm around his wife, another tall woman, curvy, with beautiful lips, pale gray-green eyes, and dark blonde hair, long and wavy.

“How was the night?” Nick asked then.

“It was okay,” Ilsa answered glancing at Strike. “I think he’s doing better at nights now.”

As if he had heard her, Strike started struggling in his sleep, grunting and tossing. Robin gestured for everyone to shut up and leant, trying to understand what he was murmuring. She thought she heard ‘mayday’ and ‘let me go’, but she couldn’t swear it.

“Should we wake him up?” Lucy asked, worried.

“Absolutely not,” answered Robin, getting up and disconnecting the IV tube from the needle in his arm so he wouldn’t pull from it by accident, turning the valve so the liquid wouldn’t keep travelling down the tube and spill on the floor.

“But he’s struggling...” Lucy argued, stubborn.

“Because he has to, his brain’s processing, that’s what dreams are for,” said Robin calmly, keeping her cool and putting her hands near Strike’s to prevent them from hitting something if they started moving a lot in his struggle. She leaned forward and whispered against Strike’s ear. “You’re not in a plane. You’re safe. You’re home.” Robin kept repeating the mantra until Strike seemed to relax back to sleep and then she readjusted the IV, putting it back in place.

“That was good,” Gwen smiled satisfied. Robin half smiled a little.

“Just don’t wake him up,” Robin checked her watch. “I’ve got to go, I’m seeing a place where I might be able to open a consult or something. Work. I’ll be back later.”

“Good luck!” wished Ilsa as Robin left.

Robin had been meditating her next step for a few days now. She didn’t feel like going back to school and exams for a master’s degree or a PhD, and she didn’t feel like working in a mental hospital. She liked to help the people who wanted to be helped, she liked to resolve people’s problems and be an ear to listen. Then the idea had come to her; she’d open a psychology consult and she’d help people understand life, emotions and their minds a bit better.

Researching online, she had found a local in Denmark Street, near Tottenham Court Road, that suited her. It was small, but she didn’t really need more. She took the tube from Lancaster Gate to Tottenham Court Road Station and was there in less than half an hour. The local turned out to be a small two-room and toilet one over the 12 Bar Café with windows to Denmark Street. It was the cheapest she had seen downtown and the zone was good. If she could just paint the walls a little, it would be more than perfect. Satisfied with herself, she closed the contract and drank a celebratory pint at The Tottenham pub before going back to the hospital.

She had two missed calls from Robin when she got out of the tube, but since she was almost there she decided not to call back and just hurried the rest of the way to the hospital. Upon arriving to the corridor of Strike’s room, shouting made her scowl.

“Robin!” Ilsa, Nick, and Strike’s friend Dave Polworth, with his wife Penny stood in the corridor looking distressed. Robin rushed to them. “The nurse woke him up by injecting him some med while he was sleeping and he got scared, woke up all distressed and tried to hit her, so she called for reinforce and now it’s a disaster in there!” She could hear the screams clearly now. Strike was shouting-sobbing to be let go, Lucy was shouting someone to leave him alone, and others were shouting for her to shut up.

Robin barged inside the room and her eyes widened. There was a nurse man grabbing Strike from one arm, tying him to the bed, and between two they were grabbing his other arm, a doctor with a needle ready in hand. Another nurse had grabbed Lucy and was holding her back, while Gwen was trying to free her from the nurse’s grasp.

“What the hell?!” Robin shouted, and grabbed the doctor from the elbow, pulling back before he could inject anything on Strike. “I’m Robin Ellacott, I’m Mr. Strike’s psychologist and I order you to free this man and woman and get that needle away from him right now.”

“You order me?” the doctor raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, because I’m going to talk with your superior and inform them that you’ve got three men forcefully restraining a man and, another, a patient’s sister, both people completely unaggressive, without a need. We’ll see what the judge thinks about this when I sue the hell out of this hospital.” Robin snapped angrily.

“This man has lost control, I’m just going to calm him down...”

“The reason Mr Strike is freaking out is because he’s being grabbed without explanation when if you had read his medical records you’d know he was tied up and hit as a child and now you’re giving him PTSD, I can calm him down perfectly well if all your men leave the fuck out of here before I call the police. You have one second to stop this inadmissible behaviour.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “And after I call the police, I’ll call my bosses in the RAF and see what they think about this, Doctor...” she read his coat. “Spencer.”

“Okay fine!” the doctor put the needle aside. “Stop grabbing them, stop! Everyone out!” the nurses did as told and Lucy rushed to the bed, where Strike sat with tears in his eyes and shaking, his face completely transformed with extreme panic, hugging himself.

“Stick, my sweet boy...” Lucy sobbed out.

“Mr Strike has psychotic conducts and tried to injure one of the nurses, we were just restraining him to administer a sedative and calm him down,” the doctor said.

“Maybe he wouldn’t have tried to hurt a nurse if she hadn’t startled him needling him while he’s asleep, seriously, where did she study, uh?” Robin was raging. “This patient isn’t psychotic, he’s traumatised and he’s a soldier, and you’ve worsened things so congrats. Now get the hell out, you’ll be hearing from the family lawyer. Ilsa!”

Ilsa and the others came back into the room nailing angry eyes on the man, that looked at her briefly before leaving the room.

“I heard, I’ll handle it,” Ilsa murmured, then looked back at Strike, who was still a mess, murmuring ‘let me go’ time and time again. Robin breathed deeply to calm herself and sat on the side of the bed, facing Strike.

“Cormoran, it’s over, you’re all right,” said Robin with the softest of voices. She could hardly recognise him.

“What’s happening in here?” apparently Strike’s family had just arrived, but Robin ignored them, focusing on Strike.

“Hey,” Robin tried for him to look at her, but his eyes were lost in the bed sheets, so she inclined until she was blocking his view and his eyes finally moved to hers. “Hey...”

“Robin,” he blurted out, visibly shaking. Robin noticed he had wrestled so harshly the IVs had ripped off from his arms and there was blood on his wrists and foreheads. Ilsa was already off to see the Chief of the hospital. “I wasn’t... I... I didn’t mean... they don’t have to tie me... I’ll be good... I’ll be good Robin, I’ll be better...”

“You _are_ good, Cormoran. You’re a very good man, this isn’t your fault, you’ve done nothing wrong,” said Robin kindly. She really had an urge to hug him, but she knew it wouldn’t help. “Can you breathe deep for me? There you go... that’s good... just listen to my voice... can I put a gauze in there?” she pointed to his arms, and he nodded, moving his arms towards her as he took a series of deep breaths. Robin grabbed some gauze and a bottle of antiseptic that the nurses had left on the night stand and she carefully took care of his little wounds while directing his breathing. “That’s good, you’re doing very well Cormoran. Now, I need you to focus on your hands, is that okay? Just focus on what you’re touching, how it feels. Is it soft? Is it warm?” Strike’s hands moved to his lap and he rubbed the sheets slowly.

“They’re soft sheets...” he murmured.

“A bed then?” Robin asked. Strike nodded, letting out a long breath. “Can you feel if you’re tied up?” after a moment of thought, he looked at her.

“I’m not anymore.”

“That’s right, you’re free,” Robin nodded, smiling at him. “Now feel your mouth, your tongue, your stomach... are you hungry or thirsty?” Strike did a noise with his tongue and used his hands to feel his lips better.

“I’m a bit thirsty.” He recognised timidly.

“Let’s get you some water then,” Nick was already a step ahead and handed his friend a glass of water. Strike took it with a less shaking hand and drank it in one sitting, thanking him. “More?” Strike shook his head. “Okay... how is your chest feeling, tight?” Strike nodded. “Want to lie down?”

“I don’t want for them to grab me again,” Strike murmured, rubbing his eyes. “They didn’t have to grab me. I wasn’t going to hurt her, I just wanted to know why she did it.”

“I know, we’ll make sure they never, ever grab you again,” said Robin softly.

“Where were you?” Strike asked, looking hurt.

“I was closing a contract to rent a place to open up a consult, so I can work,” Robin explained, kindly adjusting his sheets. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“Can I sit there?” Strike pointed to the armchair timidly. It was as if he was back in that house ruled by Richard Fantoni bowing to his rules and his aggressiveness.

“Of course, you don’t need to ask for permission sweetheart,” Nick helped Robin move Strike to the armchair so he could sit. Robin saw then that he was on boxers and a t-shirt, his left leg’s stump all bandaged up, and she offered him a blanket to wrap around himself if he was cold, which he did.

“Robin, could you please,” Strike looked at Robin with tired eyes, “tell the nurse I scared that I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to be aggressive.”

“Sure, I’ll be right back,” Robin smiled to herself as she exited the room, thinking how good of a man Strike was, even wanting to apologise to a woman that had caused pure chaos and struggle to him because he knew he wasn’t fully innocent.

After finding the nurse and talking with her, clearing matters out, she entered Strike’s bedroom again and found the Chief of Surgery talking with him in soft manners. She was an extremely short, plump black woman.

“She apologised,” Lucy whispered to Robin, who nodded.

“You must be the psychologist who intervened, right?” the short woman looked at Robin, who nodded. “The doctor responsible has been fired, we’ve assigned Mr Strike a new head doctor, and the nurses who grabbed Mr Strike and Ms Strike, suspended. We consider their behaviour inacceptable; things should’ve been handled with more delicacy.”

“Why hasn’t he been evaluated by your chief of psychotherapy or something?” Robin questioned, fierce.

“I rejected all the shrinks, I hate them all,” said Strike guiltily. Robin’s expression softened up and she looked empathetically at him. “Perhaps if I hadn’t, they would’ve known not to touch me.”

“Don’t blame yourself Corm, is not your fault,” said Robin softly.

“Perhaps you could write an evaluation down if Mr Strike is comfortable with you?” the chief of surgery suggested, looking at Robin. “It would help my doctors know what not to do.”

“Give me the paper and I’ll do it right now,” said Robin right away. The chief of surgery looked satisfied at him and Strike smiled a little


	5. Pushed out of the nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight with Strike makes Robin leave in search of her own life.
> 
> [A/N: This fanfiction is COMPLETE. I just don't publish more often because this story barely has comments, so I guess unfortunately no one cares much. To those who do, enjoy!]

Two months after the attack, Strike seemed much better physically, collaborating and progressing in his rehabilitation, but mentally Robin just saw him worse every day, no matter what she did. She spent her mornings at work, closed at four and ran to the hospital, sometimes she even stayed the night, she read to him, tried techniques, but he truly wasn’t better. It had, however, kept her mind away from thinking of Matthew, since she hardly had time for herself. Lucy’s predictions were fulfilled when Strike started retreating himself. It was difficult to get a word out of him, impossible to get a smile, and he only ate the minimum necessary to keep his stomach settled.

Strike felt his own anger growing at times, along with times of frustration and sadness. His leg hurt, his back hurt, his head hurt. He got dizzy easily, his brain fucking up with his leg’s rehabilitation as the effects of the concussion persisted. He couldn’t write properly, he had a hard time doing anything like reading, Maths, and crosswords, which meant he was always pretty bored and frustrated with himself, and his memory, that had always been so sharp, seemed to be resenting too. Strike felt alone, misunderstood, lonely, useless. He couldn’t do anything but sitting in his room and wait, facing all the rehabilitations –leg and brain- with hopes of trying to regain some part of his old self.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” Robin said softly one evening as the rain fell hard against the windows, the room smelling of a scented candle Lucy had brought. The dimly light hit Strike as he lied in bed, looking down at his lap. Robin had come after another long day of work, his room being usually fuller after four, when everyone got off work, and had found him completely rough and uncommunicative.

“Robin’s right Oggy, why don’t you talk to us? Maybe you’ll feel better then,” Ilsa suggested. Robin had learned Ilsa and Strike’s were friends since always. They hadn’t been in the same class because Strike’s birthday was in November and Ilsa’s in April 9th, which meant Strike went, like Nick, to school a year after Ilsa, but Mrs. Burnett, Ilsa’s mother, was best friends since school with Joan, Strike’s aunt, and the Burnetts were the owners of St. Mawes’ favourite pub, which meant the two had spent a lot of time together for as long as they could remember, and often played together during recess in school. Now, Ilsa was a lawyer after having finished her post-graduate studies the year before, and Nick was in the middle of his General Practitioner training, about to finish his medical education.

“Leave me alone,” Strike grumbled under his breath.

“I don’t think you’ll be very happy if we leave you alone,” Robin argued.

“Why do you have to psychoanalyse everything I say or do?” Strike snapped roughly, glaring at Robin. “Jesus Christ Robin, quit it! You’re always doing the fucking same, don’t you realise how asphyxiating it is?”

“I’m not psychoanalysing...”

“My ass you aren’t,” Strike puffed. “You’re not a friend, you know? You’re a psychologist. You don’t know how to be just a friend.” Robin frowned, offended.

“Can I know where in hell have I failed to be a friend here?” Robin asked calmly.

“You never disconnect! Every time I talk to you it feels like I’m talking with the school counsellor, because you never stop!” said Strike angrily. “Where’s the fun Robin one could talk with about anything without feeling like the patient of a psychiatric?”

“Here, nothing’s changed,” Robin argued. “I’m not here as a psychologist Corm, I’m always here as a friend and I’m sorry if you don’t like the fact that I look at things through psychology, but I can’t erase four years of knowledge from my brain, you know? I’m not some dish you can remove the yucky stuff from whenever you please, it’s all or nothing.”

“Then maybe it should be nothing,” said Strike, glaring at her. Robin felt a pang in her chest.

“Cormoran, don’t you speak to her like that,” Lucy chimed in, glaring at him. “She’s been the sweetest person doing the impossible for you time after...”

“You’re not the person I thought you were and I hate shrinks,” Strike continued, his face looking rough, with the thick eyebrows and growing beard. “I’m sorry Robin, but I only sat with you in the canteen because I thought you were different, and you’re just like all of them and you make me feel uncomfortable and uneasy. I don’t want to be your patient. I’m not one of your nutters. And now I understand how you have no friends aside from my own.”

“The fuck?” Nick pushed Strike lightly on the shoulder. “Quit it, mate! She doesn’t deserve your bullshit.”

“Touch me again and I’ll break your hand,” Strike glared at Nick, who scowled, and then looked back at Robin. “You should grow up and get a life, you know? You’re twenty-three and look at you, your fiancé cheated on you and for some reason you turned out homeless, when you should’ve had a job waiting for you here like all of us. If it wasn’t for my sister’s kindness, you wouldn’t have a place to fall dead. You should rethink life, you know? Stop depending on my family. I’m not your pity case and you’re not my family’s pity case either. You’re only here because your boyfriend dragged you here, and now you don’t have the guts to go back to Masham with the tail behind the legs, don’t you? So now instead of following Matthew like a puppet, you follow me. Get a life.”

Robin couldn’t give credit to her ears and she stood up slowly, her eyes glassy, and with a hand stopped everyone’s attempts to argue Strike and defend her. His words had cut deep but she also knew it was a product of his struggle. However, she knew she couldn’t stay like she always did, and let her ass be kicked and her heart suffer just because she wanted to be a good friend. If he wanted her gone, she’d be gone. Robin would put herself first for the one time in her life.

“All right,” said Robin coldly, gulping the knot in her throat and hanging her purse on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave then, nice to meet you.”

She exited the room and Lucy rushed after her.

“Robin, please don’t...”

“Lucy,” Robin took a deep breath and sniffled once. “I’m too old for this, you know? I know you’re brother is a good man, I know. I don’t resent him, I know he’s just struggling and I beg you not to resent him, but I need to protect myself and I don’t have the strength to resist in a place where I’m not wanted.”

“But I bet tomorrow he thinks differently...”

“He won’t,” Robin sighed. “He will when he’s okay, but I can’t stick around waiting indefinitely while he discharges on me for both psychologist and friend. He’s right, I can’t be friend and psychologist. I’ll get someone good to call you and try to help him, but I can’t stick around because it’s not good for me and I need to be selfish for once in my life.” She tried to stay calm. Lucy’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded. “I’m sorry Lucy.”

“It’s fine,” Lucy shrugged. “Would you at least, please wait until the morning? Give him a chance to apologise.”

“I don’t know, Lucy,” Robin sighed. “Look I just think he’s right, you know? What am I doing here? I hate London, Lucy. I only came here to marry Matthew and make a family with him, get a nice job, and instead I found him fucking someone else, I found myself homeless and unemployed, and all I had was Corm. I made my life mission to be here for him, not for me and now if he doesn’t want me here, like I’m sure he’s been thinking for weeks, I’m going to follow his advice and put myself first, without resentment towards him even. I want to be happy, not fucking stressed all the time, the consult barely sustains itself and I don’t pay you half of my third of rent. I want to do something else. Something that makes me happy for once, something that isn’t for Matthew or for Cormoran but for me.”

“So you’re going to leave London?” Lucy asked, her voice sad as they stood in front of the lifts. “Will I ever see you again? Because you’re my friend and I...”

“Lucy,” Robin pulled her into her arms. “Please don’t freak out. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I promise you our friendship won’t end because of this, okay?” Lucy sighed against her shoulder and nodded.

“Thank you for everything...”

“Thank _you_.”

They pulled apart and Robin smiled sadly at her.

“I’m going to sleep, see you at home,” said Robin. “Go back to him okay? Make sure he doesn’t lose all his friends, Nick didn’t seem happy.”

Robin exited the hospital rubbing her eyes impatiently and taking deep breaths as she practiced techniques of mindfulness, being conscious of her feet, aware of the air against her face, the rain against her umbrella and the wetness on the tips of her boots as they collided with the water. Strike’s words were repeated in her mind incessantly as she picked up all of her things from Lucy and Gwen’s flat, and once her few belongings were packed up, she sat on the sofa with a paper and a pen on the coffee table, thoughtful.

The reality of the situation was painfully honest in her mind, clear as the water in a small glass in front of her, half empty. If she was honest with herself, ever since she had finished her degree and _that_ had happened, she had felt as if she was fighting against the waves of the ocean. When she had finally been able to leave her house in Masham, after more than a year of solitude, unemployment, and living off her parents’ kindness, she had gone straight for Afghanistan, looking for something she now recognised as herself, the inner strength and bravery that had been rudely ripped from her in Scotland, and then she had come to marry the man she was so in love with, Matthew (the mere thought of him created a knot in her throat) and who clearly hadn’t loved her in the same way. She was supposed to heal in Afghanistan, find the job of her dreams in the city Matthew wanted, since she didn’t care the where, she cared about the who she was with, whichever the city.

Then Strike, her only friend –all of them had vanished along with her ability to leave her house- if she thought about it, had been the reason for her to stay in a place that meant nothing to her, and now that he had set her free, she didn’t know what to do with so much freedom. She hadn’t had so much freedom in her life. That was the terrifying reality; she could do whatever she wanted. But what did she want? She looked around her little belongings. She wanted more belongings, meaningful ones, and she wanted a nice house where to store them. She wanted a life. And she wanted to be a damn forensic psychologist, she had always wanted that and now that it was just her for once in her life, she was going to go on and get it.

When later in the night Lucy and Gwen made it to their flat, they found no trace of Robin or her belongings and a note sat on the coffee table. Lucy took it with a crestfallen soul.

‘ _Dear Lucy & Gwen,_

_Thank you for giving me a place to call home._

_I’m all right and I don’t want you to worry about me. We will meet again, once I fix my life up. That is a promise._

_I’m sorry for leaving like this, but I’m not good at goodbyes and I didn’t know I was going to do this until I got here._

_Please care for Cormoran for me. I leave without holding any grudges or resentments towards him and it’d be great if neither of you held them either. The number below is of a good psychologist I know, we were classmates and she’s really good. I’ve called her ahead and all expenses have been paid off, so don’t worry about that._

_See you soon, please don’t try to find me. I’ll come back when I’m ready. Much love to you all,_

_Robin xoxo_ ’


	6. Can we be happy again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike faces his demons and a chat with Robin clears his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry for the lack of posting, my summer's hectic and I just got a wrist injury and using the computer has gotten a little tricky.

Everything around him was on fire. His skin burned and he couldn’t see where he was going anymore, he was losing control. It was then that he felt his body being thrown backwards with the force of a bomb and his eyes opened up. The first thing he noticed was his beating heart out of control in his chest, and it took him a moment to calm himself down, as he stared at the white ceiling of the guest room at Nick and Ilsa’s house in Octavia Street, Wandsworth, a big borough of London on the southern side of the Thames.

His chest raised high one last time before he let a long breath out and then rolled out of bed. Strike had been napping before the big dinner to celebrate the news that Strike was to be given a decoration for his compromise to his duty even when he was facing what only a miracle prevented from being sure death. Strike felt honoured and proud for it, but he still didn’t feel completely happy with being decorated for being reckless, careless, stupid. However, he let Ilsa and Nick organise the bloody dinner and wore his best suit and pinned his pant sleeve with special delicacy. Three months after being wounded, his leg was healing nicely and the rehabilitation was going well. He was strong enough to walk around in crutches, Charlotte had stopped texting him, and his brain felt almost back to normal, which helped his mood.

Lucy hadn’t let him forget for one second the arsehole he had been towards Robin and well, a little towards everyone really. He remembered it bloody well, and her eyes of absolute betrayal and hurt had haunted him in his dreams and sometimes even awake, but he knew he had done it because he truly wasn’t happy with her company in the moment. He missed her, but he didn’t miss the psychologist in her and, knowing she couldn’t have one without having the other, he resolved to leave her alone and be happy with her life, that he hoped she had gotten into a good place, while he was equally happy with his.

“That was a good nap,” Ilsa smiled at him as through her glasses she saw him enter the kitchen in his crutches. “Slept well?”

“Well enough,” Strike looked at Ilsa fondly. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a black, wide band where it tightened around her hips and a low cleavage that he knew would drive his mate Nick crazy. “You look great, what’s the occasion?” Ilsa snorted a laugh and Strike chuckled, knowing it fully well.

Ilsa was preparing some snacks as the salmon cooked in the oven, pouring olives, almonds, chips and other deliciousness in small, squared white bowls. Strike moved to the fridge and manoeuvred to pull out the jar of filtered water, serving himself a glass while supporting on his one foot and one crutch.

“I miss Robin,” Ilsa commented nonchalantly. “Will you please fix things with her one day?”

“What is there to talk about?” argued Strike, putting his glass back on the white kitchen counter. “I really can’t stand her, Ilsa. I just want the person she was in Afghanistan, being treated like an equal and not like a patient, and she can’t do that!” he said in frustration.

“Is that my bestie’s soft, sweet voice?” resonated Nick’s deep voice with a mocking tone before he appeared in his dark suit with a dark blue shirt and a black tie, his eyes immediately eyeing his wife. “God love, you’re stunning.”

“Thanks babe,” Ilsa smiled accepting a kiss as Nick leaned over the wooden kitchen bar for it.

“Perhaps you should try to emphasize with her a little bit,” Nick said as he pulled apart and looked at Strike, who had flopped in one of the kitchen stools. “You know, that thing people do, you’ll find it in the dictionary.” Ilsa snorted as she chuckled and Nick smirked looking at her. Strike rolled eyes.

“I do feel bad for her if that’s what you mean.”

“Look, you needed psychologist her. You still do, as much as the normal friend,” said Ilsa, turning around to face them as Nick sat on a stool next to Strike and proceeded to cut a bar of bread in thin slices. “And we all carry our jobs in our personalities and it doesn’t mean I’m treating you like a murderer or Nick like a patient. The way I see it, she was perfectly normal with you and just trying to contribute the _useful_ knowledge she had to help you, you can’t hold that against her.”

“Except I can,” Strike was stubborn like made of brick and Ilsa puffed. “Ilsa, I don’t want to be looked at and treated like that, come on, is it so hard to understand really? I haven’t kicked out every single one of them for nothing!”

“Oggy,” Nick’s tone was conciliatory as he looked at his old time best friend. “The way you interpret people’s actions is solely in your head and yes, that’s psychology, but isn’t it true? No matter what we do, if you decide stubbornly that someone’s doing whichever thing, there’s no way of making you leave that damn idea alone, and we’re asking you to leave it and just look at her with clean, new eyes, not full of judgement. You are the one who decided she was looking at you like a patient and only you can decide to look at her otherwise. And as much as you reject psychology, your mind needs healing as much as your leg, if not more.”

Strike opened his mouth but he shut it close as the doorbell rang and Nick ran to receive Strike’s siblings and their friends. Ilsa looked at him raising his eyebrows.

“He’s right, you know?” she murmured. He nodded with a sigh.

An hour later, Strike felt more himself than he had in a really long time as he threw his head back, roaring in laughter at the joke of his oldest friend Dave Polworth, sitting next to him with his long-time girlfriend Penny. The joke had been good and filled the table with laughter, echoing in the small back garden of the Herberts under a darkening sky. They were sitting around a long, wide wooden table, and Nick had just brought dinner, but they had been warming up with snacks and a bottle of fine scotch Lucy and Gwen had brought. Other attendants were Strike’s twin-sisters, Gabrielle and Danielle, both with their mother’s heart-shaped face and their father’s blue eyes, long, wavy black hair, one a journalist and another a jewellery designer; Gabrielle’s boyfriend Robbie, a young wide man with blonde hair and blue eyes; and Alan Burke, a writer and one of Strike and Ilsa’s closest friends from St. Mawes, who was now living in Reading. Al Strike, who had just finished his finals, was discussing career options with Lucy in one corner, having come to stay with her now that Robin was gone, so he could look into universities in or near London.

Light conversation filled the table, everyone getting along easily. Robbie and Nick were both fans of the Spurs, while Danielle and Penny both loved jewellery –Danielle’s own designs covered her rings and wrists- and the rest could also find some common points between them, so conversation occurred effortlessly. Nick hadn’t yet filled all the plates with salmon while discussing football with Robbie when Ilsa got up to attend the door after checking her mobile. Minutes later, she appeared in the garden with a stunning, tall Robin in a beautiful green dress and high-heels. She wore make-up, her hair loose in waves, and she smiled with all of her as she hugged Lucy and introductions were made as ‘our friend Robin’, and Strike felt slapped on the face. It didn’t look like Robin hadn’t seen Lucy, Nick and Ilsa, for as long as Strike hadn’t seen her, and for one moment Strike felt angry and ready to go, but then he recalled Nick’s words. They needed to start over, so he stood up and pressed his lips into a small smile, shaking her hand. She grinned at him before occupying the vacant seat that Strike had assumed belonged to someone who hadn’t made it, between Lucy and Al and directly in front of him.

“Sorry for the delay,” Robin excused herself with an apologetic smile, thanking Nick as he filled her plate before finally sitting down. “Work was crazy today.”

“What do you do?” Penny asked with a small smile looking at the strawberry-blonde haired as she drank from her wine.

“I studied psychology and now I have a practice in Denmark Street, but I’m also doing a PhD in forensic psychology online with Cambridge,” Robin explained. Strike’s eyebrows raised and Lucy, who obviously knew, grinned full of pride.

“That’s quite impressive,” Penny commented in awe.

“And the practice is beautiful, you should see,” Lucy beamed, an arm around Robin’s shoulders. Robin blushed, smiling. “Always full of clients. Didn’t you do a consultancy for a school the other day and everything?”

“Oh, well...” Robin blushed harder. “Yeah, I assisted a bit. They had some problems.”

“She did a master online after Uni, didn’t you? She’s a full chartered psychologist, this one. One of the good ones,” Lucy added proudly.

“You just think too highly of me,” Robin giggled. Strike, who didn’t know, was impressed.

“So you’re gonna be a forensic psychologist,” said Alan, curious. Robin nodded.

“Hopefully, that’s the idea. Still a lot of training and studies to fulfil, so I spend every free minute studying,” said Robin. “Feels nice to have this break, good wine, good company...” she chuckled, taking a sip of her wine. Dave laughed.

“Girl, but you look so young to have done so much!” Dave commented.

“Twenty-four in October,” Robin looked proud of herself. “I like to always be doing something, what can I say?”

“God, you hadn’t even written a book at twenty-three,” Dave chuckled at Alan, who laughed.

“Women are usually speedier,” Nick chuckled, refilling Robin’s cup. “Enjoy, that’s very well deserved.”

“Oh, talking about deserving...” Robin looked inside the suit jacket she wore over her dress, searching in the pocket and finding a small box that she handed Strike over the table. “Congratulations are in order, isn’t it?” she beamed. Strike felt even more like an ogre now that she came with... a fucking Rolex.

“How in hell did you afford this?” Strike asked, pulling the silver watch from its neat package. It wasn’t one of those silver, super expensive, fancy Rolex, it was a humbler one with a leather strap and a golden circle, the hands and the numbers in golden and the sides of the metallic part of the watch in silver. It was beautiful and probably still pretty expensive and Strike felt touched. It was a more expensive, fancier version of his old watch and he always preferred leather straps to the metallic ones.

“I can afford it,” Robin chuckled. “Besides, I knew yours had broken with the plane, and I figured you’ll look better in the pictures when they give you the medal with a nice watch on your wrist.”

“Good heavens, thank you Robin,” Strike put the watch on. “God, I love it. Thank you,” he repeated, this time looking at Robin, who smiled briefly and looked down as she attacked her food. “It’s not even my birthday... look, it’s so nice!” he beamed, showing everyone. “Bet there’s no plane that can wreck this one!”

“And leather, like you like,” Ilsa remarked. “Robin knows you well.” She added giving Strike deep eyes that made him gulp. He shook his head and reached a decision.

“Robin, would you mind coming inside with me for a second? I forgot something upstairs and maybe you can get it for me?” Strike asked giving her pleading eyes. Robin looked up nervously and nodded, following him back inside the house and into Strike’s bedroom in the ground floor.

“What did you want me to do?” Robin asked nervously following him into the room. Strike flopped on the bed in front of her.

“I’m so, so sorry,” said Strike, looking up at her as she stood in front of him. There were bags under his eyes and his beard, although shaved, was longer than mere stubble. “I don’t deserve this watch, I’ve been a jerk to you and I’m sorry about everything I’ve done. I miss you, Robin.” Robin let a long sigh out and leaned back on the chest of drawers, looking down.

“Are you all right now?” Robin asked finally after such a while Strike was doubting she’d answer.

“Yeah,” Strike nodded. “There are good days and bad days... and I never called your buddy... but I feel better. How are you?”

“I’m well,” said Robin, still not looking at him, her voice soft. “I live in a flat over my practice now. It’s going well with work and life, went back to Masham and all.” Strike nodded.

“I’m glad...”

“What you said wasn’t right,” Robin blurted out suddenly. “I’ve tried my best with you all along and you’ve done nothing but kicking my ass, when I was doing everything in a completely selfless way, putting you first and going beyond my business for you. I was the best friend I know how to be.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Cormoran if you can’t take me for who I am, including the side that worries and behaves according to the five years of psychology studied, then we can’t be friends,” Robin said firmly. “I won’t cut off an arm for you. And that side of me is me. Is a part of me. I won’t handicap myself removing it. Not for you, not for anyone.”

“That’s exactly how it should be.” Said Strike, looking guilty. Robin nodded and pinched the top of her nose’s bridge, so perfect and with exactly the right amount of curve, Strike noticed.

“However,” Robin continued, sighing, and finally looked at him. “You weren’t all wrong. You hurt me, deeply, but you weren’t all wrong. I needed to forget about doing things for anyone and start putting myself first, and now I’ve done it, and I found what I want to do, I like my flat, I like my neighbourhood, I like my job and my studies, and I’m happy on my own. Whole. Independent. I’m glad for that.”

“I would’ve liked to have helped you in a nice way, not by being a complete arsehole,” said Strike with a small smile. “I would’ve liked to be there to encourage you and cheer for you and beam proudly like Lucy does.”

“When you say you miss me,” said Robin, “do you mean you miss the Afghanistan me?” Strike gulped and nodded. Robin breathed out, looking down again.

“But Robin, is just...” Strike sighed in frustration. “I miss the way you looked at me. You admired me, you liked me, you laughed with me. We were equals. Friends. I miss that, all of that... and ever since the leg, I always feel like all I am to you is a poor veteran who’s lost his leg and of whom you need to take care. And I hate that, Robin. I hate to see everyone treating me different, the pity looks... it’s as if I was a poor boy. And I’m not. Something bad happened and I’m okay, no matter how much everyone insists I’m not. I just want to still be looked at as Cormoran Strike, not Hopalong Strike,” Robin flopped on the bed next to him and took a breath, looking at him. He looked defeated.

“Cormoran, don’t you realise it’s all in your head?” said Robin softly. Strike raised his eyebrows, incredulous.  “All right, not all, but the whole part about people looking at you or treating you... yes, we treat you with a bit more delicacy, but just like one treats a baby gentler, not because we think less of you but because you’re facing difficulties and we want to help. But the pity looks... that’s in your head. We look with concern when needed to, not the whole time, you just feel that way because you’re so self-conscious of your leg unconsciously you think it’s also all everyone else sees, and the better you do the less people worry and hover over you and stress and make you anxious. I’ve seen it tonight, everyone is calm and is relaxed and is laughing, because you are, and if tonight you say anyone is treating you differently, then it’s all in your head, which isn’t your fault is just where your mind is right now and it’s fine.”

“Can’t things just be like always with you?” Strike looked pleading at her and Robin smiled small.

“Sweetie, you miss how we were in Afghanistan because back then you had two legs, you were healthy and we were perfectly fine and happy, I didn’t look at you worried because I didn’t have a reason to be, while now you’re hurting and I’m struggling and we worry and things aren’t that good, that’s what this is,” Robin squeezed his thigh gently. Strike looked at her in the eyes, feeling an odd temptation of kissing her that he quickly shrugged off.

“Do you mean what I should be asking then is if things can be happy again?” Strike murmured, understanding the reasoning. Robin chuckled.

“Yes,” Robin nodded. “And the answer is yes. You’re doing better, I’m doing better, and we’re going to be just fine, happy, and we’ll be jumping on the beach again. Well, you’ll be hopping but that’s the idea,” she added jokingly, and Strike snorted a laugh.

“You’re a very good friend,” said Strike, looking attentively at her. “Because we’re friends again right?” Robin nodded, moving to hug him, sighing against his neck. He chuckled and hugged her tightly, turning to make sure it was a good hug.


	7. Not so friendly fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike's traumas make him attack his best friend, and he'll need Robin's intervention to improve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your reviews. My wrist is doing better, and I am always thankful and blessed to get reviews and see what all of you think. If you wish to, I have a tumblr (https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/) where I often talk about my fics, or post content fandom related, if you want to check it or talk to me there, feel free!  
> Hugs!

Octavia Street was quiet and calm almost always, which was why the Herberts had chosen it to be their family home after they had gotten married. That night, Ilsa snuggled into her husband peacefully sleeping, his arms wrapped around her and his cheek against her forehead as she rested her face over his clavicle, her wedding ring and engagement ring shining with the moonlight as her hand rested on top of his chest in the small room in the second storey of the house and her glasses on top of her nightstand next to a book about criminal conduct. The room was mostly dark, Nick’s white coat being an almost shinning object hung on an armchair. The rest of the house presented a similar appearance, from the room waiting to be a nursery to the guest room downstairs.

Then, a strong, masculine shout followed by the sound of something big falling to the floor made both Ilsa and Nick sit up wide awake, looking around in shock.

“Did you hear that?” Ilsa whispered, putting on her glasses.

“Yeah,” Nick frowned, looking worried. “Stay here, I’ll check.”

“Yeah sure,” Ilsa shook her head, standing up after him and following him quietly into the corridor. Nick gave her an ‘are you for real?’ look and Ilsa shrugged. “Could be thieves. Together in sickness and in thieves, remember?” Nick chuckled and nodded, grabbing her hand.

“I can’t hear anything,” Nick murmured quietly as they walked downstairs, slowly, looking around for thieves.

“The door is locked,” Ilsa observed reaching the main door and checking it was just as they left it. Nick checked the other door, and the windows were also closed, locked, as they had left them. There were no footprints, which should be because it was pouring with rain outside.

“I guess it was something else,” said Nick after they had registered all rooms. Then a distinctive ‘damn fuck!’ was heard in the guest room.

“Cormoran,” Ilsa blurted out suddenly, and they rushed, barging inside the guest room. Strike was tossing on the ground, entangled with his sheets, swearing under his breath. He looked at them with wide eyes, dilated pupils.

“Go!” he shouted. “The planes! They’re coming! They’re coming!” he kept shouting, frantically trying to disentangle himself. “They’re going to blow this house up! Go!” Nick and Ilsa exchanged concerned glances.

“He must be dreaming still,” said Nick.

“And we can’t touch him...” Ilsa looked sad at Strike, tossing like a fish out of the water, as he got more anxious and anguished for moments, swearing and shouting for them to go somewhere safe and leave him.

“We have to,” said Nick. “He doesn’t seem to remember about his leg. Oggy, mate, let me help you up, okay? I’m just going to help you stand up.” Nick moved to crutch next to his huge shape, despite his enormous loss of weight over the months, and Ilsa imitated him reluctantly.

“Come on sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay,” Ilsa tried soothing Strike. “You’re just dreaming, there are no planes or anything...”

“No! Don’t touch me! You must go!” Strike tossed further, making it harder for them to disentangle him, but they finally managed and then Nick put one of Strike’s arms over his shoulders, putting his own arms around his torso to lift him up. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Strike, as expected, got very stressed and tried to wiggle himself up. “My leg! I can’t feel my leg!” he cried out.

“Let’s sit him on the bed and call Robin! Corm, you’re asleep honey, you’re all right...” Ilsa shouted over his noise, grabbing Strike from the hips. Then Strike wriggled an arm free and landed a solid punch in Nick’s stomach, then moving his arm back and elbowing Ilsa on the face. The matrimony yelped and let go off Strike, but luckily Strike fell on the bed.

Nick recovered his breath, rubbing his stomach, and looked around, seeing Ilsa groaning with her hands on her face, sitting on the floor.

“Babe, are you all right?” Nick rushed to her.

“I’m fine! Just take care of him!” A pronounced scowl appeared in Nick’s expression as he turned around to face Strike, feeling anger beyond compare. No one hurt his wife.

“You fucking twat, wake the shit up!” Nick gave Strike such a slap on the cheek with the back of his hand –because he was still his best friend- that Strike’s face turned aside with a curse and he blinked awake.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Strike looked at Nick with a frown, rubbing his cheek, his pupils back to normal size. Nick let a long breath out and looked at Ilsa. “What’s going on guys? It’s the middle of the night...” Strike, disoriented, looked around. His stump hurt, his face hurt, mostly from the fall to the ground, and his sheets were on the floor.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Nick softly cupped Ilsa’s face to take a look, and Ilsa removed her hands. Nick glared at Strike over his shoulder. “Look what you’ve done, you tosser! Her brow’s purple! Purple! You should be ashamed of yourself!” Nick didn’t remember ever being so angry at Strike, and Strike looked at him stupefied.

“What are you talking about?” Strike asked. Ilsa tried to calm Nick down with soft words. “I didn’t do that. Are you okay Ilsa? What happened, did you fall? I can get some ice...” he tried to get up and almost fell again. “Shit! My leg! Where’re my crutches?” they had been supported on the wall and with the movement they had fallen under the bed.

“You stay there, you’ve done enough for one night!” Nick roared at Strike, who looked like a sad and confused puppy at them. “I want you out of this house, tomorrow morning!” Strike looked down, crestfallen, with a frown. He didn’t understand why Nick was kicking him out and being so angry, what had he done?

“Stop it Nick, he didn’t do it on purpose!” Ilsa yelped. “I’m all right. I’m okay.” She cupped Nick’s face and kissed him briefly before standing up and looking apologetically at Strike. “Just stay here Corm, sweetie, don’t worry okay? I’ll be right back and we’ll look at your leg.” Ilsa smiled reassuringly at him despite the growing purple swelling on her brow and let Nick drag her outside the room.

Half an hour later, Robin sat with the three of them in the sitting room, her pyjamas only covered by a jumper and boots as she sat looking stunned on the small sofa next to Strike, both with mugs of tea in their hands and Strike leant forward looking down, full of shame, anger with himself and sadness he had hurt his best friends. Ilsa sat on the armchair right next to them, forming an ‘L’, and Nick sat on the coffee table leaning forward as he pressed ice wrapped up in a kitchen cloth against Ilsa’s growing bump. His own stomach hadn’t suffered much because he had rock hard abs, the punch had only knocked the breath out of him for a moment. Despite the immense softness and delicacy which with he treated his wife, he hadn’t spoken a word to Strike for the whole half an hour.

“I’m just fine, seriously,” Ilsa repeated for the umpteenth time, softly. She loved Nick and his attention and sense of protection towards her, but had never seen the two men fight and hated they were in such a situation. Strike had already apologised a bunch of times, but Nick wasn’t even listening.

“You’re lucky it hit your bone and now your eye or you could be blind,” said Nick pressing the ice softly. “It’s not broken, but I’m taking you for a CT scan in the morning, you could have a concussion...”

“Whatever you want babe, but please relax, Corm didn’t do it on purpose. He didn’t know what he was doing, he apologised and I’m not mad, I don’t see why you should be if I’m not...”

“You could’ve blinded her,” Nick glared at Strike, speaking between grilled teeth. If he thought about it, Strike had never really seen Nick that angry in general, at anyone. Nick was the funny guy and the pacifier, and Ilsa the one who battled for justice relentlessly, so they complemented each other well. “You could’ve caused a brain haemorrhage, for all we know. I can’t even look at you right now! Your best friend! And you do this!” he shook his head, turning his attention back to Ilsa and kissing the bruise carefully. “I’m sorry love but I don’t know how you cannot be angry. I want him out of our house first thing in the morning.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Ilsa argued, then looked at Strike and pointed at him firmly. “You’re not going anywhere. I want you here with us.”

“Nick’s right thought...” Strike sighed. “I’m a danger to both of you as long as I’m here. I’ll find a hotel, don’t worry.”

“I said no! Damn it men, doesn’t my opinion count one bit?!” Ilsa pushed Nick away with a puff and Nick sighed.

“Look, guys...” Robin shook her head. “You all need to calm down before we can sort this out okay? Why don’t you drink your tea, Nick?” reluctantly, Nick took his mug and took a long sip. “Corm honey, why don’t you tell us what happened?” Strike sighed, his elbows on his knees and his chin rested on his hands as he looked down in defeat. His cheek looked bruised where he had hit the ground and Robin had already been icing it.

“I have no idea,” Strike breathed out. “I was sleeping, I suppose. Next I know, Nick’s slapped me and I’m on the bed, sitting, and the sheets on the floor. I guess I fell to the ground because of my face, but I don’t know what I was dreaming or anything. I don’t recall hitting any of them either, but I’m truly sorry I did...”

The room was warm with the heater on and illuminated by a floor lamp, giving it a dimly, orange-like light. The rain had calmed down a little, but still Robin was happy to have come in a taxi.

“And you said he fell and was shouting?” Robin asked Nick and Ilsa. She had gotten a quick version on the phone as Ilsa called her with the emergency.

“We hear a thud and a yelp, found him on the floor entangled in his sheets, he couldn’t get up,” Ilsa explained more detailed. “We tried to help him but of course he doesn’t like being touched and even less in his sleep, so he hit us so we’d leave him alone, and in all fairness, he did warn us to let him go several times. And yes, he was shouting, something about planes coming to blow the house up, telling us to leave him and go somewhere safe and he didn’t remember about his leg. We tried talking him out of it but he wouldn’t listen and his pupils were dilated like a drugged up man. He only woke up when Nick slapped him.”

“Well,” Robin sighed, sad to see her best friends in such situation, “in my professional opinion, Cormoran was just sleep-talking. He might’ve seemed awake, but he was asleep. Some people go and grab a glass of water, I suppose he went to alert you planes were coming, he forgot about his leg and he fell, and then he just panicked about being touched. Nothing was done consciously or purposely, for all he knew, it was all in a dream. I understand you’re all upset or angry, but it was just an accident.”

“An accident is falling and shouting in the middle of the night because of a nightmare, and I can’t be pissed off for that,” Nick replied tiredly. “But the touching thing? That’s not a fucking accident, Robin. That’s been going on for ten fucking years. Ten years of him not wanting a hug, a caress, a pat, not even a high five! Zero physical affection, and we were understanding and did as he wanted, no matter how much we would’ve liked a hug at some points or something. We got married and he was the best man, came there in his pretty RAF mess dress, and stood like a fucking statue, wouldn’t even shake hands and of course, let’s no one invade his space in the fucking family photos. No one ever understood how Charlotte managed affection, what a miracle!” Nick rambled, walking around. “We told him to get help a million times, everyone did, but the tosser doesn’t listen! How many times did we tell him, Ilsa? It was a matter of time before he hurt one of us and it finally happened, all because in ten years he had to be a stubborn arse, trying to convince us he’s better because now he shakes hands! And that Robin? That is his fault, that is his full responsibility, and either he gets help for it once and for all or I’m personally kicking him out of my house. He’s a dangerous person, I don’t care if he wants to play the fucking PlayStation in his sleep, but I will fucking care if he tries to hurt my wife once more when she’s trying to help!”

“He does get to be angry for that,” Robin murmured sighing. Strike nodded, not daring to talk. “I think there are only two solutions possible in this situation then. Corm, you can pack your things now and come with me to my flat at least for now or, you can compromise you’ll get help because it is true you’re a danger to yourself and to others, Corm. You could’ve seriously hurt that nurse, you could’ve seriously hurt your best friends, and you could seriously hurt yourself, all by accident, even more now that you’re sleep-walking, and you need help for that too because if you keep falling like this you’re going to worsen your leg. Your choice...”

“I do miss hugs...” Strike whispered almost inaudibly, rubbing his face, tired. He knew he didn’t have a choice really, no matter what Robin said. “All right,” he said more loudly after a moment, “I’ll find help tomorrow morning, okay? First thing in the morning, I swear. But I won’t stay here or in anyone else’s place, I’ll get a hotel. You said it yourself, I’m dangerous and I won’t let this happen twice. Until I’m better, I’m not risking it.”

No one liked the idea of Strike having to be alone, but they reluctantly accepted it was the best decision, not without a lump in their throats.


	8. Step by step

“3, 2, 1...” Robin tried to pull off, but Strike tightened his arms.

“Just a minute more?” Strike pleaded. Robin smiled and nodded against his shoulder, hugging him tighter. He still trembled a little under her arms, but he refused to let go just yet, practising the numerous relaxation techniques Robin had taught him and that now allowed his physiotherapist to finally touch him just enough to help him properly and thoroughly.

It was a hot morning of July. Strike had successfully finished the last of his divorce agreement the week before, and he had been receiving therapy from an old acquaintance of Robin for weeks now, at the same time as visiting Robin’s practice every couple days for, basically, hugging. Robin would count the seconds, so he always knew it was going to end, there was a deadline, which seemed to be helpful for him. It was also helpful to be asked for permission before any touch, even something as ‘silly’ as moving her hands on his back.

The progress had been quick and enormous and Strike smiled as he sank in the scent he had come to adore, sitting on Robin’s practice’s sofa and leaning against her. It also helped that his physiotherapist had him taking a soft downer a couple times per day, which also seemed to help him sleep without talking or walking. The only ones to know how big his progress had been were Robin, the psychotherapist, and the physiotherapist, to ensure no one would be pressuring Strike for contact when he wasn’t fully ready yet.

“Okay, that’s enough,” said Strike gently when he felt he was starting to get anxious, pulling apart. Robin grinned at him, her strawberry blonde hair shinning with the sun as she stayed sitting there for a moment, proud.

“That was really good, Cormoran,” Robin complimented, finally getting up and going for her desk, writing the progress in his file and putting it back in the filing cabinet.

“I feel really good,” Strike stirred, feeling more rested up than ever, and stood up using his crutches. He hated the crutches but his leg wasn’t fit for a prosthesis yet. “How’s it going with Matthew?” Robin had been visiting Masham every weekend and Matthew’s family had been avoiding her. The woman sighed.

“I don’t think we’ll be friends, ever,” said Robin looking at him from her desk, her chin on her hand. She had slight bags under her eyes and Strike thought there was no one prettier in the face of Earth, not even Charlotte. “But it’s better off that way. I’m sleeping better, hating him thoroughly and not thinking so much about him or her anymore, which I call progress. What about you and Charlotte?” Strike shrugged vaguely, standing by the desk. He’d rather not sit on the chair, since then he’d have to get up again.

“She’s stopped trying to contact me,” said Strike. “And I miss her a little less every day. Funnily enough, when I think of her, I can’t even be angry. Is more like... tiredness,” Robin chuckled, nodding in approval. A couple weeks earlier she still had to put loads of effort and energy into getting three words about himself out of him and now he opened up with ease, at least with her. He was trying hard. Nick was still distant with him. “You look super tired.”

“I’m overworking myself,” Robin shrugged leaning back on her chair. “The clients are piling up and when I’m not with them I’m studying, so my brain feels about to explode. But I’m all right.”

“Bullshit,” Strike smiled kindly at her. They were managing to keep their friendship safe despite Strike being a regular patient. They had set some boundaries; calling each other by Mr and Ms when it was patient-professional moment, bouncing back into the familiar closeness as soon as it was over, and never discussing his mental health outside the practice, unless it was an emergency. Robin was smiling at him in a way that made his chest swell. “Want to go out for dinner tonight? My trait.”

“Oh, you mean aside from lunch today at Lucy and Gwen’s?” Robin looked pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah, just the two of us,” Strike held the word ‘date’ back in his tongue. “You know, a reward for your hard work.”

“Sure,” Robin chuckled, checking her watch. “We should go before Lucy kills us.”

“I think today’s the day, Robin,” Strike commented as Robin grabbed her jacket from the coat rack. “I’m gonna hug my sister again after ten years. I’m ready.” Robin grinned at him.

“You don’t know how happy that makes me,” Robin opened the door for him and they exited the office, appearing at an outside office. “We’re off, Sophie,” Robin told her secretary, a nice-looking blonde who tended to feel intimidated by Strike’s presence and who was very young. Robin smiled warmly at her.

“All right Robin, I’ll close for you,” Sophie offered. “See you at three after lunch break?”

“Actually, it’s Saturday, you shouldn’t even be here. Go home, Soph,” Robin winked, opening the outside door. “Enjoy the weekend!”

“Thank you!” Sophie yelled as Robin closed the door. Robin snorted a laugh and guided Strike to the lift.

“Is she always in such a good mood?” Strike asked. Sophie always smiled, was always polite.

“Not always, but she is a very good friend,” said Robin, the lift lowering them two floors. “And she loves her job, strange as it is. Says she likes to be helping people without having to endure my mental extenuation, as she calls it.”

Strike laughed as he crutched towards the door to Denmark Street, both walking to Robin’s Land Rover parked on a corner. They chit-chatted through the whole drive to Lucy and Gwen’s flat, laughing and singing along the radio in a silly way that didn’t intend to make justice to the original singers’ voices, and yet Robin discovered Strike’s voice to be beautiful even as he fooled around. Robin parked the car near Elephant & Castle’s station and they walked the rest of the way, that wasn’t much.

“D’you think Nick will still hate me?” Strike wondered as they walked. Strike missing walking, but said nothing about that as he crutched.

“He doesn’t _hate_ you, he’s just turning out to be the kind to stay angry for long when it comes to his wife being hit in the face,” said Robin, visibly relaxed.

“He’s a resentful bastard. I apologized, a hundred times, what else?” asked Strike, and Robin understood he was genuinely lost in the topic and asking for help. “It’s been weeks and he’s still tense to me, I miss my bestie.”

“Now you can hug him,” Robin suggested jokingly. Strike rolled eyes but chuckled. “Look normally I’d say give him time, but I think he’s had time enough so I don’t know. Perhaps it’s not about you.”

“What d’you mean?” Strike looked at her curious. He was always interested in her psychological insights on _other_ people.

“Perhaps,” said Robin, her strawberry-blonde waves of hair dancing as she walked, her cheeks slightly blushed with the intensity of his glance. “He’s just upset with himself because he blames himself for not having protected his wife properly, even though I particularly don’t think he’s guilty of anything, but men have their pride.”

“So what do I do? Pay him a session with you?” Robin giggled and Strike smiled, feeling warm inside by making her laugh.

“Yeah, pay me some new jewellery...” Robin joked as they arrived to the flat.

Robin hugged Lucy and Gwen like old friends, and, keeping the surprise alive, Strike accepted the absolute lack of affection towards him, smiling warmly at his sister as she asked him how he was doing. Al, who was living in the ‘Gay Nest’ as he fondly called it, to investigate Universities up and around and to get used to being in the city during the summer, waved at them, and Nick and Ilsa saluted from the table at which they were already sitting. Apparently Strike and Robin were the last to arrive and, after following the usual greeting ritual with the pertinent questions about their whereabouts and health, they all sat around the table, Strike making a point to sit beside Lucy, so he could hug her in the right time. He couldn’t do so well when standing up, since the crutches busied his arms.

Ilsa’s eyebrow had returned to its usual size and colour, no concussion had been caused and the woman behaved with her best friends as usual, with her habitual serious-but-funny mood. Nick had been working super hard for some major event during his GP training and looked rather pale, but was quickly joking and laughing with Al before the young adult left to meet some friends who were also moving to London.

“Is he really here to be a responsible young man or to party?” Strike asked Lucy with a smirk as the door closed behind Al.

“Well you’ve been eighteen,” Lucy chuckled. “He’s got to be here by dinner time, no exceptions, and he’s gotten a temp job for the entire summer in some hotel so he pays a bit of rent, symbolically. If he wants to party a little bit, I’ll allow. Not all of us get offered a full scholarship in Oxford.”

“A full scholarship? In Oxford?” Robin looked impressed. “What did you do?”

“Speak Latin fluently,” said Strike, shrugging.

“Apparently being a very weird child gets compensated in adulthood sometimes,” Lucy rolled eyes with a chuckle. “Oh, and we’ve finally finished all the wedding planning, a month before the wedding!” the table cheered. It wasn’t really a wedding because it wasn’t legal in the UK, but a civil partnership, although they were doing everything they could so it was the most like a wedding.

“Without getting too excited though,” Gwen added with a smirk. “We will have to keep an eye on all the last minute things, but well.”

“That reminds me...” Lucy disappeared into the sitting room and came back, handing Robin an envelope. “Will you come to the wedding in short notice?” Robin grinned, opening the envelope.

“Of course I will,” Robin admired the invitation, with silver handwriting over a pale green card, “Lucy _Leda_ Strike.” She added with a chuckle.

“Oh, you don’t know how thankful I am of not having been named after damn Blue Öyster Cult, mum’s favourite band,” Lucy giggled sitting down again.

“Will you be a Downey now?” Ilsa asked, curious, looking at the future wives over her meal.

“We’re going to be keeping our surnames, and our children will be Strike-Downey, we’ve decided,” Gwen announced cheerfully, beaming at Lucy, who nodded excitedly.

“By the way, my dearest Best Man,” Lucy added looking at Strike. “Would you walk me down the aisle?”

“Me?” Strike looked surprised. “All along I thought Ted would do...”

“I already made sure Ted wouldn’t mind, he has two other nieces who will most likely request his services when the time comes,” Lucy brushed off. “I always thought of you actually, so what do you say? Get your gorgeous suit, walk by me...”

“Well,” Strike let a long sigh out, “Luce, you know I’d love to, I’m honoured, but I can’t. I can’t even walk myself.”

“Jesus Christ, then crutch me down the aisle if you want to stick to strict meanings,” Lucy rolled eyes. “Come on...”

“You’re going to be stunning and you will look much better next to Ted than next to me, Luce, you know that. It’s gonna look pathetic if I do it,” argued Strike despite himself. “I’m really sorry Lucy, I was planning on at least dancing with you but things happen, I can walk you to places in five or six months when I get the prosthesis.”

“Cormoran Blue Strike,” said Lucy sternly, leaving niceness aside. “I want you walking me down the aisle, with your crutches, and I’m the bride so you’ll do as I say and that’s the end of the discussion.” Strike looked at her intimidated.

“...Okay ma’am...” he muttered, slightly scared of her wolf eyes. She immediately grinned.

“I don’t think it’ll look pathetic,” commented Gwen nonchalantly. “I think it’ll be beautiful.”

“Of course it will be!” Lucy was cheerful.

“So how’re the dresses?” Ilsa asked, and they embarked in an excited conversation about how stunning both dresses were, but without revealing too much information.

Strike remembered Ilsa’s wedding as if it had been the day before. It had been in the evening, in Scotland, where Ilsa and Nick had had their very first home together after Nick had been doing his foundation school studies in medicine there at the time. They had been in the gorgeous Glasgow Cathedral, in winter, and Strike had, once again, been best man. It hadn’t been so long ago, barely two years ago, and he had gotten to wear his mess dress for the reception afterwards and his normal military suit with a flower in the lapel during the ceremony, standing by Nick. Twenty-three year old Strike had been a very young, fit, almost sexy pilot officer, next to the gorgeous Charlotte, with his 6 feet 3 broad body, his face slightly stubbly and his hair neatly brushed back at the time. Ilsa had been absolutely stunning and Nick had had a good mane of hair back then and the biggest grin for the whole night, crying when he saw her and everything. It had been sappy, cheesy, and everything Strike had wanted for his best friends.

Remembering Robin’s engagement had died with her relationship, he looked at her concerned about how she felt regarding the wedding talk, but she seemed okay, enthusiastically commenting with the others. Nick and him exchanged a small glance and then Nick looked aside, putting an arm around Ilsa’s shoulders and kissing her on the cheek sweetly, as if remembering his need to keep her safe.


	9. Hug me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike reveals how much he's advanced with his recovery

They had moved into the desserts and were talking about the week and random stuff, Nick commenting a funny work (he got paid during GP training) anecdote and Ilsa proudly talking of her newest success in the courtroom, and Strike was starting to feel the absolute craving to hug his sister, for some reason. It had been ten years, surely a long time. He remembered when the last one had been as if it had been yesterday; at the burial of Leda, in his sixteenth birthday, three days after her death. He had hugged Lucy with abandon, as well as her other three siblings, in a group hug, and let them cry on him, from eight-year-old Al, scooped in his arms at times, to Lucy and the twins. He had hugged and hugged, and he had been hugged and kissed, and Tracey had still been there, his girlfriend for a few more weeks, and that same night he had taken such a beating from Rick Fantoni that his ability to stand touch had died and his relationship with Tracey with it. Strike knew his siblings, mostly the twins and Al, had held enormous resentment for his lack of affection then, before they had known what Fantoni had been up to, and he understood. Strike hadn’t forgotten the crushing look of devastation at being denied the slightest of physical touch from him during those times or Christmas, or New Year’s, or birthdays. Lucy had slapped him hard across the face when a crying Al had gone to him during that Christmas for a hug and Strike had moved aside, letting him fall to the ground –and Rick had kicked his butt nicely for that, once everyone was in bed-. It had crushed Strike to not be able to seek anyone’s affection when he was suffering the most, during the worst years of his life, and he still didn’t quite understand how Charlotte had managed, in the process hurting tremendously everyone around him, who couldn’t understand either why she got what not even his siblings could from him. But sex had been angry, kisses desperate, hugs and snuggles an absolute no and their entire relationship unhealthy, with that high moment of secret marriage in the council hall right before Strike’s last mission with the RAF, after Charlotte had convinced him, with tears and drama about ‘what if you never come back?’. What an irony it had been that her concerns had almost come true.

Strike was nervous about whether or not his body would betray him in the last minute and push away his sister, so he started by casually flopping his left arm over the back of Lucy’s chair without touching him, pretending to be deeply interested in the conversation. He had always been a very affective, loving boy, like his mum. He remembered her hugs fondly and he had been the most affectionate of his siblings, making it particularly crushing not to be able to stand the simplest of touches for ten years. His body had kept begging for touch, giving him the impulse and need to seek it, and then betraying him with shaking, panic attacks, anxiety attacks, etc. No one who hadn’t gone through that could understand the ball he had in his throat. Like jumping into the pool, he simply threw himself for it, putting his cheek on his sister’s shoulder and his arms tightly wrapped around her hips.

For a moment, as she registered what was happening, Lucy didn’t dare to move or talk.

“Hug me!” Strike demanded then, squeezing her tightly, letting his nose fill with that scent that reminded him of his childhood, Cornwall and their mother, and feeling the not in his throat bigger at his first hug in ten years, with the exception of those shared with Robin, with whom he had also cried, more bestially than in this occasion. He never wanted to let go and as Lucy moved to face him and hugged him back with desperation and urgency, crying against the crook of his neck and burying her fingers in his hair, he couldn’t hold himself straight any longer and cried too.

The hatred towards Rick Fantoni had been bigger in him because he had stolen him of his family, after his biological father had stolen him of his mother. Fantoni, who had caused his physical reactions of absolute freak-out towards the most minimal touch, Fantoni, who was to blame for the way everyone distanced from him, giving him depreciating looks full of hurt every time he roughly pushed aside a hand, moved his leg from theirs if they brushed while sitting, handed things to others with special care so their hands wouldn’t brush. All of that while the affectionate boy inside of him cried for someone to just give him a good hug. If his family and friends had hurt, no one imagined how much he had hurt.

Strike subconsciously waited for his muscles to tense, chills to appear, shaking to start, panic to arise. But none of it happened. He laughed-cried as Lucy squealed in excitement, giving him a kiss on the temple that he didn’t mind much, squeezing him tighter and sniffling against his shirt, and he squeezed her back.

“Since when?” Lucy asked not quite pulling apart but moving to look at him.

“I’ve been practicing with Robin, but you’re the first out of sessions,” said Strike proudly, giving her a kiss on the tear-stained cheek.

“Aww!” Lucy sniffled and hugged him again. “Gosh you’ve gotten so big...!” she cried-laughed into his neck.

When they finally pulled apart, Strike rubbed his eyes and grinned.

“Who’s next? Gwenie?”

Many hugs and tears followed and finally Robin high-fived Strike over the table, grinning. She too had gotten emotional just by seeing what a simple gesture that was so insignificant for so many meant for that family, and it wasn’t just a hug. In some way it was a clear ‘I’m back!’ after ten years.

“Bugger-off Fantoni!” Strike chuckled as he sat back down after the last hug, his arms feeling like jelly. Nick beamed at him and he felt forgiven for a moment, or that at least Nick seemed to have forgotten he was supposed to be bothered at him. “And all thanks to my wonderful psychologist.” He grinned at Robin, who blushed and shook her head.

“You and psychotherapy worked the biggest of it, I just passed by,” she replied humbly, taking a sip of her wine and calming her nerves.

“OK you’re leaving that hotel and coming back to the house today,” Nick threw Strike a napkin in a ball and Ilsa snorted a laugh.

“I don’t know Nick, I do like that hotel...” Strike joked playing around.

“Oh shut up!” Nick laughed. “But if you touch my wife again I will murder you.”

“Oh, sush you two!” Ilsa rolled eyes but chuckled.

“Can’t believe Al missed this, he’s gonna flip, he was like this tiny the last time...” Lucy gestured with her hand really low. “Please hug him when he arrives?”

“I’ll be happy too,” Strike smirked. “Won’t be scooping him up for the old times though.” He added jokingly, and Lucy giggled. She felt almost drunk with the good news. “So divorce finished, medal safe in a drawer, now we just have to marry you two once and for all.”

“Amen!” Gwen toasted. 

Robin’s mobile rang and Robin had barely asked who it was when she was hanging up.

“I’ll be right there,” Robin hung up and looked apologetic. “I’ve got to go, sorry. Want me to drive you Corm?” she stood up grabbing her purse.

“It’s fine, don’t worry... why such hurry?”

“Yeah, we haven’t even opened the Brandi yet...” Ilsa looked concerned at her friend.

“Some work emergency,” Robin shrugged. “Nothing too big but I’ve got to go...”

“See you tonight?” Strike asked.

“Yeah, pick me up at five? I’ll be studying if I finish this early,” Robin stopped to hug Strike, who nodded.

“Have fun!”´

Once the door of the flat opened and closed, Ilsa raised an eyebrow at Strike.

“See you tonight?” Ilsa questioned, the side of her mouth raising a little bit along her eyebrow.

“Yeah, I invited her for dinner,” said Strike trying to sound natural and like he really didn’t have any hidden romantic implications in it.

In truth, Strike hadn’t really dwelled on his feelings for Robin. He had always found her beautiful and interesting, funny, kind, all positive qualities. He had nothing but nice words for his friend, even despite his jerkiness towards her weeks prior. It was the kind of girl he would’ve naturally tried to get into bed with in his teenage years, but now things were different. He had just divorced a woman for whom his feelings had been so intense he had called that love, someone who had been a part of his life for the past seven years of his life, his wife for almost a whole year. Strike didn’t feel that his loyalty and devotion were still set on Charlotte, his heart wasn’t dying for her bones. This was probably a product not only of the intense lack of respect Charlotte had shown him over the years with her frequent lies, disloyalty as she flirted –and probably cheated- with other men, and manipulations skills, but also a product of five years growing apart with his frequently long deployments, his lack of ability to show much affection except for aggressive sex, and his lack of being a very emotional person due to the damage his parents had inflicted him.

However, now he found himself healing from all of that with Robin, which led for him to show affection towards her in ways in another time would’ve been unthinkable and implicate emotionally with her like he hadn’t been capable of doing much for so many years. With Robin, the walls he had carefully built over the years seemed to tumble down effortlessly, and the smiles seemed to creep into his face unconsciously. This led to a feeling of intense gratitude towards the woman, but also a passion about her, the growth of curiosity towards her and an addiction towards everything her company meant for him; relaxedness, smiles, laughter, understanding, empathy. Things he had known from no one in so many years, not even his best friends, with whom, as damaged as he was, he couldn’t quite open up because he didn’t feel they’d understand. But Robin had been in Afghanistan, had seen part of his world and worked in listening and helping others. She had a deep knowledge of the depths of the human mind, which instantly, without thinking of it, made it easy for him to trust her and confide in her, to feel comfortable feeling in front of her knowing she had seen worse and she wouldn’t think of him as a nutter or look at him with the fear other people in his life had. All of this was why he had invited Robin for dinner. He craved her company, but not in the sexual way he had always craved women, despite the amount of times her beauty inside and out made him feel inclined to kissing her. This was why he had invited her out, hoping to grow closer, enjoy her more, and this was why Charlotte hadn’t supposed such a heartbreak for him. Charlotte had become a source of anger and frustration, mistrust in women that somehow, with Robin, seemed to melt away. He wasn’t in a rush to possess Robin the way he had possessed Charlotte, didn’t feel like making her his anything, just saw her as a free bird he liked to be surrounded with, but who he also wished to keep at enough distance to not possess him in the venomous way Charlotte had. The fact that he knew Robin was truly struggling with Matthew, on whom he had confided like Strike hadn’t been capable of doing with Charlotte, for whom she had shown affection, loved, been physically and internally giving with him, all the things Strike hadn’t done with Charlotte and that by doing then, had meant for Robin to be too open to Matthew, more vulnerable to have her heart broken, meant that he understood she was undergoing a bigger pain that he, who hadn’t been capable of giving himself away ever before, couldn’t share, and out of respect for her, he knew he needed to make sure she had the proper time to assimilate it and healing before focusing on another men.

But it also made him crave to be capable of helping her heal from Matthew the way she had helped him heal from everything.

“Oh, you like her,” Gwen chuckled, looking at him.

“Of course he does, haven’t you seen how he looks at her? I’m surprised Robin hasn’t caught up yet,” Lucy murmured with a little knowing smirk.

“Everyone likes Robin,” Strike argued, bold as always. “I’ve invited her out because I like spending time with my friend and it seems like these days it only happens in brief lunches with you guys and in psychology sessions. If I want to not feel towards her as just a patient, I need to care for our friendship and make sure we have time to be just friends on our own, just like we have time to be patient and psychologist.” He convinced himself this was true. It was part of his agreement with Robin so she could work with him without it crushing their friendship. In Robin’s words ‘there is a time and place for everything’.

“You should take her to that place in Battersea,” Nick suggested. “The one we went to before you went off to Afghanistan, with the views to the Thames and the terrace.” Strike nodded. Ilsa kept giving him the well known as ‘the look’, which contained both warning and concern, but also encouragement and curiosity.

“You do know she’s going through her own battles, right?” said Ilsa just to clarify things. “She found her fiancé fucking someone else in their bed.”

“I know,” said Strike, nodding. “Look, I respect her, I truly do. I’m not about to go and try anything with her, I just like spending time with her and she does too. We’re the only person in each other’s lives who gets Afghanistan, or arses of exes who broke our capacity of trusting like that, or many other things. And probably the only single ones of a similar age. Besides, she can’t spend her entire days thrown in work and study just to occupy her mind and I know how to have fun in London.”

“Well, just make sure to treat her right,” said Ilsa, looking at him intently through her glasses. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“I’m a gentleman,” Nick chuckled at Strike. “I’m serious Ilsa, I know what I’m doing. I owe her, I’m not about to fuck things up again. She’s not even interested in amputees anyway, we’re not precisely at the top of girls’ lists.”

“I hope you do know us, decent girls, see more in others than just their bodies, right?” Gwen questioned, waving to the other girls. Strike nodded and rolled eyes. He was still not good enough for Robin, even if she didn’t mind his leg.

 

 


	10. Love and vulnerability

A long shower in Nick and Ilsa’s bathroom and a nice shaving preceded the act of putting on his nicest suit, the tie Ilsa approved as ‘the one’, deep blue and going with his dark brown-greenish eyes, and the prettiest pin he owned for his trousers’ leg. Strike had kept a short, neat beard, close to being stubble, because it made him feel like people felt less inclined to mock him around the street as an amputee if he had a beard. These thoughts were mere inventions of his mind, since so far no one had ever mocked his leg or insulted him around the street for bothering multitudes with his crutches. Ilsa convinced him not to use hair products and leave his curly, short hair, natural, since products would in her opinion just worsen the rebellious situation they had.

Nick dropped him off at Denmark Street five minutes before time on his way to do the weekly grocery shopping, and Strike walked into the lift feeling things that he wouldn’t exactly call butterflies in his stomach. He always rejected the moment of the day in which he had to abandon Robin’s company. Upon opening the door that said ‘R. V. Ellacott, Psychologist & Counsellor’ he noticed the secretary’s desk was empty, and he knocked softly in the inner office’s door.

“It’s closed!” Robin shouted from inside. “Come back on Monday!”

“It’s Cormoran,” Strike answered with his deep, soft voice.

“Oh! Come in!” with a chuckle, Strike opened the door, a bouquet of flowers precariously held under his armpit as he crutched his way in.

The room, normally full of light coming from the two windows on the wall behind Robin’s desk, was darker by the time of day and a lamp on the desk was on, illuminating a couple thick books about forensic psychology and mountains of papers, the computer on, and Robin standing up from her seat and walking towards him with a grin, wearing a long to a little under the knees, dark blue dress –Strike wondered if Ilsa had known when she advised him the dark blue tie- with beige high heels and her hair braided back. Her make-up was soft and she looked tired but radiant.

“Hi,” said Strike feeling his mouth dry as Robin hugged him shortly. “You look stunning, Jesus.”

“Thank you, you are looking very handsome too,” Robin blushed slightly as she pulled away and looked at him more clearly. “Are those for me?” she pointed at the bouquet.

“No, for your secretary,” Robin’s eyebrows rose and Strike chuckled. “Of course they are for you! Although they might be a little squashed, I’m sorry…”

“That’s all right, they’re beautiful, thank you,” Robin beamed as she took them and put them on a glass vase on the enormous bookshelf on a side, taking from it old, dead flowers that she threw to the bin unceremoniously. “Let me just grab my purse and shut off the computer and we can go.”

“No hurry, I do come early,” Strike looked around the room he had visited so many times.

There was a big, tall, blue lava lamp on the floor, on a corner by the bookshelf, where it wouldn’t be kicked to the floor by accident and where it could be seen by the sofa where Robin usually sat to chat with her patients. The lamp had helped him talk several times, as he got lost in the bubbles going up and down. There was a painting on the wall of Masham, in front of the windows, so it was always well-illuminated, and beside Robin’s University of St. Andrews’ diploma, and the one of her Master’s degree too, both neatly framed. On her desk, Robin kept a framed picture of her chocolate dog, Rowntree, with her parents in Masham, and one of her as a child with her siblings. She had confided Strike that patients tended to feel more comfortable when they saw she was a normal person too, with her family and her problems, not just a smart robot.

As the two walked around the street and to a taxi, the conversation flew as easily as it normally did and Strike remembered to ask about her earlier emergency.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Robin. “I’ve got a suicidal patient,” Strike frowned, but she spoke about it as if she spoke about the weather, which spoke wonders of her great inner strength, “she was having some rough ideas today, so we meet and talked a little. She’s okay though, she’s just self-destructive. But she hasn’t done anything in weeks, she knows to call me if she starts thinking about it, no matter the time of day. May interrupt us tonight though, unfortunately.”

“That’s okay,” said Strike, amazed by how Robin could just give away her private life just like that, by letting a patient confide her like a friend. He wondered how that worked, how she was able to complement life and work, friends that at the same time were patients or patients that needed to treat her as friends, but that weren’t such. “It’s so kind of you to offer yourself like that.” Robin smiled a little, walking slowly beside him, in silent respect for his disability.

“It will always impress me how humanity has gotten so rotten that the simplest, most common-sense like acts of humanity are seen with such surprise.” Reaching a taxi, Strike opened the door for her and slid next to her, handing a paper to the driver with the address written down.

“Robin,” Strike looked at her, his dark eyes finding her blue-gray ones. “I think humanity has grown tired of having the elbow taken when they offer a hand, and are not willing to risk it anymore, so the world becomes less loving and crueler.”

“Is it worth it then?” asked Robin, the taxi starting its drive. “To stop being kind and vulnerable so the world can be a little colder? Keep being selfish? Because I don’t think life is worth it without some affection, kindness, or love.” Strike saw the look in her eyes and understood that they were no longer talking about society’s habits. It was something between them. Love and vulnerability, or being an ogre trying to protect oneself.

“I guess it depends on everyone’s bravery,” said Strike with a shrug, putting his crutches aside and stirring his long legs as far as the small vehicle would allow. “And if we get into such frame of mind then I’d say you’re a very brave person, which is something to admire, don’t you think?” Robin smiled a little, and looked outside through the window.

“Perhaps I’m just a very desperate person.”

They arrived to the restaurant, in a rooftop with views to the river, and to the table Strike had booked in advance. The waiter moved the chairs for them and brought them a fine wine to start while they looked at the menu. Robin was, however, struck looking at the views.

“Woah Cormoran, isn’t this place too...?” Robin gestured with a shrug and Strike laughed.

“Expensive for me?” Robin blushed. “Don’t worry. I’m still a Flight Lieutenant on medical leave, remember? I have a nice pay for my disability, so eat as you like, RAF’s paying tonight.” Robin chuckled and nodded.

“Then why are you living with Nick and Ilsa? You could afford a nice place all for yourself.”

“They wouldn’t let me, at first. Doctor said I shouldn’t be living alone when I’m still getting used to my new situation, and in the hotel someone could always pop in and give me a hand, but not in a flat all on my own,” explained Strike, looking at his menu. “And now... I still don’t feel quite prepared. I guess a part of me fears that... after having not been on my own ever in my life, since even in the army there’s always someone sleeping next to you or right in the cubicle next door... that I’ll depress or something. You were the one that told me people with my kind of life experiences had all the odds to fall into depression, and having Nick and Ilsa around forces me to get out of bed even when I feel the grumpiest.” Robin smiled softly at him over her menu, observing his serious features as he read the meal names for himself.

“I think is very sensible of you to do that,” said Robin. “It takes a lot of strength and maturity to recognise one’s vulnerabilities. _That_ is admirable.” Strike snorted a laugh, looking up at her. She smiled sweetly and warmly at him, with her red lips curving upwards ever so slightly.

“I guess being a foolish teenager wouldn’t be very acceptable by my sister, you know how motherly she is. She might kill me if I do something more reckless and stupid this close to her wedding.”

“I believe she would, yes,” Robin giggled.

The waiter came again to take their order and Robin took a long sip of her white wine as she observed the waiter leave.

“So,” Strike leaned back and contemplated her with soft eyes. “How’s life?” Robin chuckled, shrugging.

“Fine,” said Robin, putting her cup back on the table.

“You’re studying very hard, aren’t you on summer holidays?”

“Online courses don’t work that way,” said Robin with a giggle that made him chuckle. “I can rest whenever I want to, but I’m going against the clock to have it finished soon, that’s why I work so hard. The sooner it’s done, the sooner I can be a forensic psychologist.”

“All right, what’s so attractive about that bloody job? For what I read online is all about testifying in court.”

“Oh, but that’s only scratching the surface!” Robin’s eyes brightened as she thought about the job. “It’s about bringing psychological knowledge close to normal people for better understanding. It’s about making sure no one who may have committed a crime just because their minds are all over the place goes to prison unfairly, but that they get treatment, and it’s about explaining human behaviour in court to ensure justice is applied properly to everyone. Although the kinds of forensic psychology are infinite, as I could be employed by plenty of people.”

“Will you close the practice then?” asked Strike. “Because I think you help a lot of people there too.”

“Probably not,” said Robin. “My wish is to have both. Perhaps I will only be in the practice on Saturdays, or perhaps I’ll be an autonomous forensic psychologist and just add it to my door and stay in the practice, work for anyone who hires my services in the moment.”

“All right, but what do you want?” Robin took a second before answering.

“I think I like going solo and Denmark Street,” replied Robin after a moment of thought. “So freelance would work fine for me. Collaborating with the police, NHS and social services every now and then perhaps, but mostly consultancy job.” Strike nodded with a small smile. Of course her compromise was with the ordinary citizen. “What about you? You haven’t quitted the RAF yet.”

“No, I...” Strike shrugged, apologetic. “I like having a rank. Authority. It’s hard to give that up when you become someone people look with pity at through the street...” Robin nodded, understanding. “But I still think of piloting commercial planes. Or perhaps I could be an instructor pilot in the RAF. Maybe once I have a prosthesis I don’t have to change jobs, could go back to Afghanistan.”

“You just want to keep yourself in the air,” Robin chuckled. Strike smirked at her, leaning forward.

“Let me tell you, the RAF has very cool toys hard to give up on,” Robin laughed, nodding. “However, I think I will quit, soon. My uncle’s taught me enough for me to know if I stay longer I will end up being absorbed by them. Remember when you used to tell me I wasn’t exactly like all of them?”

“And you still don’t want to be like that.”

“Exactly. So being a civilian is probably best. I could work in a flying academy if I miss the cool planes, or just restrict myself to the normal commercial planes and travel the world a little.”

“I would love to fly with you one day,” said Robin suddenly, surprising herself. Strike’s eyebrows raised and he smiled.

“Hopefully you will.”

The evening was enjoyable in both sides, both talkative and laughing. After dinner, Robin invited Strike up to her flat and, once there, she flew to change into comfortable attire while Strike waited sitting on the tiny sofa. Strike could take Robin didn’t usually bring people into her attic flat and he felt somewhat honoured. 

 

 


	11. Robin's attic

The attic was very small, over Robin’s practice, but beautifully decorated in Robin’s style, just like her practice, and smelled of her scent, which Strike found the best part. The main door directly opened into a micro-kitchen and sitting room, with a door to the small bedroom where there was barely space enough for a bed. The kitchen-cum-sitting-room was tiny, the kitchen in one side, and in the other a small two-slots sofa with a coffee-table where Strike supposed Robin did her meals too, and no TV, since Robin just used her laptop. Instead, there was a mountain of books brought from the practice resting on a corner of the coffee table. There was also one tiny bathroom that Strike deemed as just big enough to move comfortably with one-leg, no bathtub, just a shower.

The attic was painted with light colours to make it seem bigger, in whites and light beiges, with the floor being wooden in a light brown colour. Strike had only half-seen the bedroom because the door was open when they entered, but the kitchen-cum-sitting room was the room he now could see best. He quickly noticed parts of Robin’s personality, not just the books, but on a wall there was a hung cork with photographs pinned in it of Robin’s childhood, Masham, and even Afghanistan, Strike recognised. He smiled as he saw one big picture of their gang –both of them, Lucy, Gwen, Nick and Ilsa- grinning to the camera as they cramped in the Herberts’ sofa. Next to it was Strike’s personal favourite, a selfie of Strike and Robin in the beach in Iran, both wearing their camouflage uniforms, Strike’s shirt opened just enough to reveal a few hairs from his chest’s dark mane. They were putting stupid faces to the camera and Strike remembered the day clearly. Strike had been working piloting planes for a couple days without a single break and had been ‘looking pale’ in Robin’s opinion when they finally met again, so Robin had suggested a beach excursion and they had snuck out of the base, just the two of them. In the picture, although it couldn’t be seen, Strike knew they had been on the water to their knees, with their boots in their hands, and an arm around each other, and that they had been throwing water to each other and laughing like children.

“Voilá!” Robin appeared like a Goddess into Strike’s field of vision, posing like a model. She had left her make-up on and her hair loose, left the little round earrings and changed her clothes into a sleeveless, big, blue t-shirt and baggy gray pants, barefoot. “I know it’s not so pretty but...”

“You’re still stunning,” argued Strike, smiling at her. Robin chuckled, blushing, and walked to him with two bottles of Doom Bar. Strike accepted his and Robin flopped on the sofa next to him. Strike was really feeling like kissing her now.

“This feels really nice,” said Robin putting her back against the side of the sofa and hugging her legs close with one arm, her head leaning against the back of the sofa.

“Yeah,” Strike put his elbow on the back of the sofa and supported his head on his hand, looking at her. “Don’t you miss your family? Your Yorkshire friends?” Robin shrugged.

“I’m finally doing the things that make _me_ happy, and that’s worth it,” answered Robin. “Besides, the ones we love are always right... here.” She pocked his chest with a finger and Strike chuckled, opening the first two buttons of his shirt and looking down.

“So in my chest mane, you mean?” that made Robin laugh strongly and Strike smiled stupidly at her.

“You know what I mean...” said Robin, looking at him all blushed and beautiful.

“Yeah...” there was a moment of silence between them, just looking at each other in the eyes, intently. Then, after a while, Strike spoke. “You never asked about my parents, but you know what Rick did...”

“Lucy told me,” said Robin, taking a sip of her beer. “It wasn’t even about you, so don’t worry... there was just this one night when I lived with them, that she truly wasn’t doing well. She needed to talk and she told me everything. What your dad did to your mum, what Fantoni did, everything.” Strike nodded slowly, feeling sad for his sister but glad Robin had been there.

“Is she okay now?”

“As okay as she can, she’s going to get married without parents in the end,” Robin shrugged. “Emotional times I suppose. But Gwen’s one of the good ones and she’s got it all handled. And your sister is a very strong, badass woman.” Strike chuckled.

“She’d love to hear you say that.”

“She knows,” Robin smiled. “We’re good friends now.”

“Good,” Strike nodded, letting a sigh. “I always thought Fantoni was my dad and my siblings were my siblings. Not step-siblings or anything just... I never saw big differences, even though none of my siblings is as tall and broad as me, or have the hair as curly, or the eyes in a greener tone. I didn’t want to think that they weren’t really my siblings. That I didn’t have parents or real siblings anymore.”

“Family is who you decide is family, Cormoran,” said Robin. “You decided those people are your family, and they are, no matter what DNA says. Besides, you were all raised together, grew up together, have the same mum who loved all of you just as intensely, and were raised by Ted and Joan, who are Strikes. If I didn’t know things, I wouldn’t honestly think they’re step-siblings.”

“Oh, really?” Strike chuckled, curious.

“You’ve got the same dark hair as the twins, you’re all reasonably tall people, Al has subconscious habits that I’m sure I’ve seen in you, like the way he holds his pen or walks around. It’s the same air, I swear,” Strike laughed and Robin chuckled. “You’re all sarcastic assholes with a curious sense of humour, blasting honesty and huge, kind hearts. Yes, they’re more physically alike between them, but you’ve got your mum’s way of looking at things. I saw the pictures. And when you were little, all five of you were just as fat.” She stressed the word ‘fat’ with a joking chuckle and Strike’s laugh resonated strongly.

“And how were you then?” asked Strike, curious. By all answer, Robin walked into her room and came back a minute later, smirking as she threw a photo album into Strike’s lap, resuming her previous position on the sofa.

Strike took the album, that in the first page read ‘Robin Venetia Ellacott’. Underneath there was a photo of newborn Robin, all plump, cheeks, and pretty lips, and Strike grinned. Her birth stats were underneath.

“Fucking cute, and I’m never one to think of babies as anything but weird aliens,” Robin laughed and Strike couldn’t help but keep grinning. “October 9th 1978, 4:30 AM. What a fucker,” Robin laughed harder. “9lb, _fat_.” Strike chuckled with Robin’s laughter, and passed the page.

Then there was a photo of Robin stirring, newborn still, in her tiny crib, and a little boy, also strawberry-blonde but darker, climbed onto the crib and looked at the baby with curious eyes.

“Stephen, my older brother,” said Robin, pointing at it. “He’s your age just like I’m Lucy’s.”

“Curious,” Strike had never realised Robin and Lucy were the same age, even though he had known both of their birthdays. That might explain how they got so along. “The others hadn’t been born yet, right?”

“No,” Robin shook her head. “Martin came a couple years later, and Jonathan another couple years later. He’s just finished Uni.”

“Why did you go to university all the way up in Scotland?” Robin shrugged.

“I felt curious about Scotland and I had heard many good things about their psychology department. Those were great years,” she smiled a little. Strike had always been wondering about something, so he decided to push his luck.

“How come you never had a job in psychology before Afghanistan?” he asked. Her eyebrows rose. “I mean, you’re from the 78’ and November, so you probably finished University… a couple years ago? And you told me you went to Afghanistan in November last year, so that’s over a year without a job, which isn’t really so weird, what calls my attention is how you said you never really lived with Matthew, to whom you were engaged, but you had over a year to come live with him, why wouldn’t you if you had been together so long? Weren’t you dying for it?” Robin seemed uncomfortable and Strike realised he had made too many questions at once. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make it seem like I’m interrogating you…” he added quickly.

“Well it’s exactly how it seems…” Robin took a sip of her Doom Bar and looked aside.

“I’m sorry,” Strike touched her knee. “Is just that you know so much about me, it only makes me so curious about you. I find you a fascinating topic, Robin,” he blushed, and Robin looked at him with a raised eyebrow and half a smirk, “but you seem to be so used to listening and so little inclined to talking about yourself. And right now, you’re not my psychologist, but my friend.” Robin let a sigh go and nodded, looking aside for a moment as she organised her thoughts.

“When I finished in St. Andrews I went back to Masham to live with my parents, and Matthew had graduated two years before me, because he’s a year older than mine and son of March…” she shrugged. “We were used to being apart. He studied all the way down in Bath, we were so far away during University, even when I wasn’t gone yet, when I was in Masham. He managed to establish himself here so well and I just… I didn’t want to finish University and run into another city I didn’t know. I missed my home, Masham, my family… I barely got to see them during three years and I’m a big family person. So I stayed there and I decided to help with the farm and all. I wanted to do the master’s degree, there was no money and while I decided what to do, I just stayed there. Matthew visited me often and it was good enough. I know it sounds very strange, Cormoran, but I just…” she shrugged again, looking aside, and Strike frowned lightly. “I was looking for my calling, I guess. And then I saw the advert about Afghanistan somewhere online… and I decided to volunteer there, fill my curriculum a little. I know I should’ve been worried about making some money, even more with my family having to feed so many kids, since even with Stephen off working we were three and Martin hadn’t gone to Uni and all, but I don’t know. I just couldn’t.”

Strike nodded and, feeling her tension, decided to try and change topics. He didn’t know why, but those years seemed like a sore topic.

“Does it make it easier, with Matthew?” asked Strike. Robin looked curious at him indicating she needed for him to elaborate further. “The girls worry about how well you’re doing with everything with Matthew. You mentioned you two were used to being apart, since you never really spent that long in the same city, so I wonder… does that distance make it easier now, the heartbreak?” Robin smiled small.

“In some ways, yes,” said Robin with a nod, looking at him warmly again for his concern about her. “But in other ways… you see, I saw him leave Masham for Bath when we had been dating for two years, I was only close to seventeen and I had to trust him because he was Mr. Perfect, Blue Prince and all those Disney things right? We had two perfect years, or so I thought, and it required a lot of me putting my trust in him to let him go without breaking up, just like that. Go, let’s be in different cities for five years and not break up. It was ridiculous, looking back, but that’s how hard I trusted him and that’s the kind of trust he betrayed.”

“Fuck…” Robin nodded. “You deserve much better…”

“Yeah…” she shrugged. “At least recently, when we crossed paths in Masham by accident, we got to talk, just to get some closure and… he confessed he started cheating on me with Sarah Shadlock when he left for Bath. They met there and according to him, she was the consolation for him when I was so far away for so long. So that’s seven years of cheating, including when he asked me to marry me, every time he told me how in love he was, and when I caught them. Makes me feel very stupid, but well… I was too far away and too naïve.”

“Hey,” Strike frowned, reaching to squeeze her thigh. “You were the girlfriend of a bastard who didn’t deserve you and he manipulated you thoroughly. He took advantage of your kindness and trust, which makes it even more impressive that you’re still so kind and trustful, and he lost the chance of being the husband of one of Britain’s best. Come on, he’s the one that should be throwing bricks to his face, what a prick!” Robin snorted a laugh.

“One of Britain’s best, uh?” she blushed, and he blushed for the way she looked at him, somewhat flirtatiously.

“I have three younger sisters, I’m so done with men undervaluing women and making them genuinely believe that they are the problem, the ones who aren’t good enough,” said Strike looking aside and drinking from his Doom Bar.

“Luckily, Lucy chose a woman,” Robin joked snorting a laugh, and Strike laughed. The vibe was back to warm and comfortable and Strike knew he was going to use all his power of mind not to jump Robin’s bones right then and protect their friendship. 

 


	12. Heroic interruption

Strike and Robin were caught up deep in fluent conversation up until the wee hours. They discussed Strike and Charlotte’s relationship –a feminine Matthew, to prove not only men could be disgusting creatures, but also women- and they talked about their best memories of Afghanistan, horses or planes, and when they looked at the clock, Robin forced Strike to take her bed and she took the sofa, based not in the idea that she wasn’t an amputee but on the idea that she wasn’t as enormous as he was for such a small sofa. When Strike got up in the morning, he found Robin wasn’t around and there was instead a note saying she was in the office, studying, and that he was free to shower, eat, or whatever he wanted to do. Robin had left her keys for him to lock for her and he passed by the practice, once showered, dressed and having eaten some of Robin’s cookies and tea, to return the keys, finding her hidden between towers of books. By then it was late morning.

“Robin, you’re overworking yourself,” Strike criticized amicably. “We’ve barely slept. Are you even going to have lunch today?” Robin groaned from behind ‘The Psychology Encyclopaedia 2002’ and looked at him with tired eyes over a mountain of psychology journals.

“I will?” Robin attempted. Strike rolled eyes.

“Come to Nick and Ilsa’s, alright?” said Strike. “For lunch. Otherwise I’ll personally come and feed you, baby food with a spoon in the mouth.”

“Ha, ha!”

“I wasn’t joking,” Strike chuckled. “See you later!”

Strike took a taxi to the house, feeling his arms tired from so much crutching around and was in Denmark Street at half past eleven, already thinking of a quick lunch and then a nap. It was Sunday, so Nick and Ilsa were probably busy in the kitchen already. Nick liked to cook super healthy meals because he was a doctor-in-the-making and Ilsa hated the kitchen, so she just hung around for the occasional kisses –because nothing’s sexier than a man who cooks, according to her- and to pretend to be a good helper. Strike opened the house with his own key and was surprised by the lack of smells from the kitchen.

“Nick? Ilsa?” he asked around. No one answered, so he went in, thinking they must’ve gone grocery shopping or something. Nick’s sweat-shirt from his morning jogging was on the sofa, as he normally left his stuff around for Ilsa’s irritability, and the house looked empty, so Strike went into his bedroom and had just gotten into more comfortable clothes when he heard a yelp and a thud upstairs, which made him scowl looking at the ceiling.

Thinking there were thieves, Strike difficultly crutched himself upstairs and to Nick and Ilsa’s bedroom, since the others had open doors and he could see they were empty. He opened the door and closed it quickly as Ilsa shouted and he tried to forget what he had just seen. Ilsa had been on top of Nick, on the floor, haphazardly wrapped in the bed sheets, and Strike assumed they had bitten onto each other to avoid making noises. Ilsa had been quick to shout ‘OUT!’ so Strike resigned to going downstairs like a little child, on his ass, which made him feel a little humiliated. He then took a Doom Bar by pushing it inside his pocket and walked to the small back garden, opening the beer and drinking it flopping on one of the chairs of the table outside. He was feeling quite resentful at his disability and his arms felt about to fall off, so he lightened up his first fag since he had lost his leg. He had had a package of Benson & Hedges for months because he regularly smoke in Afghanistan, whenever he had free time outside the plane, and then he wasn’t allowed in the hospital. Obviously it was terrible for his leg and heart, so he hadn’t dared to smoke in physiotherapy, psychology sessions or psychotherapy, not either in his family and friends’ presence to avoid being chastised, but truth is, since he was always on crutches without a free hand to smoke, he had gotten used to not smoking. He could’ve taken advantage and dropped them fully, but now he craved one and he smoke it as he drank the pint, with closed-eyes in joy.

When both the beer and the pint were done, feeling hungry and seeing Ilsa and Nick weren’t coming downstairs yet, he went back inside, hearing the shower upstairs, and resigned to cooking himself. He was a good chef and he liked cooking, but cooking on crutches was something he hadn’t tried yet and that looked particularly difficult, as he didn’t have free hands. Strike decided to try without the crutches, putting them aside and hoping around supporting on the counter, which proved to exhaust his already exhausted body further. He hadn’t slept more than six hours, tops. He was in the middle of cutting ingredients for a sauté when his phone vibrated in his pocket and he took it, seeing a selfie of Robin grinning to the camera while eating take-out surrounding by psychology and forensic books.

‘ **I’m eating! Sorry, can’t go. Too much to do, but I promise I’ll take a nap after lunch. R xx** ’ Strike chuckled, feeling a bit sad of not seeing her but amused by the picture.

‘ **Bon appétit. Cooking myself. Caught N & I getting it like rabbits. I’m a poor traumatised child now.**’

‘ **HAHAHA THAT SOUNDS HORRIFIC. Cheering for them tho!** ’

‘ **They’re too desperate to have a mini human. Too young!** ’

‘ **Is called your godchild xx** ’

Strike laughed and went back to cooking after a bit more texting. Nick and Ilsa appeared shortly after, both dressed trying to cover as much as almost August allowed, and Strike pretended not to see the hickeys.

“I’m making stuffed courgettes,” said Strike paying attention to the pan.

“I’ll set the table,” said Ilsa, all of them ignoring what had just happened, her hair still damp and her cheeks blushed as she went to get the tablecloth, and Nick took a cloth to clean the table. Strike had seen his naked legs and her naked back, with the beginning on the ass curve, and he tried to erase the image from his mind by opening a second pint. He had grown up with Ilsa. She was his fourth sister. He was mortified.

Twenty minutes later they sat for lunch and Nick nodded in approbation as he tasted the meal Strike had prepared.

“We should let you cook more often,” said Nick gulping. “This is damn good.”

“Indeed,” Ilsa smiled a little. “So, how did it go with Robin? We thought you had gotten some when you didn’t come last night.”

“We were talking until past four in the morning.”

“Yeah, talking...” Nick laughed.

“No, really,” insisted Strike, his stomach happier and improving his general mood. “Just talking. She’s a really great conversationalist, always full of interesting comments. Anyway, when it got so late and we noticed, she forced me into her bed, went to the sofa, and that was it. She’s studying now, in the practice.”

“She reminds me of the post-university times I spent with post-graduate studies,” Ilsa commented. Law had indeed been a difficult field to study.

“I get chills just by thinking about those years,” Nick chuckled.

“Only because she was looking more at her notes than at her brand new fiancé,” Strike rolled eyes with a smirk.

“Now that you mention attention,” Ilsa eyed Strike with a small smile. “I’d appreciate if you, you know, _knocked_.”

“In my defence I thought you had thieves and I crutched all the way upstairs just to defend your household, why can’t you guys moan like normal people? Is the universal ‘don’t come in’ signal!” Nick and Ilsa blushed but laughed and Strike knew then that they had in fact been loud, heard him come in at the front door and decided to try and pretend they weren’t home so Strike would leave them to it, until they had fallen off the bed.

“Ah, what would we do without our hero in shining armour!” Nick joked with a laugh.

When Strike went to take a quick nap after lunch, he prayed his friends could keep it in their pants long enough to not wake him up.

 


	13. The Herberts' Love Story

A few days later, Lucy took Robin and Ilsa shopping in what she called a ‘girls day’ once the working day was over, so they could relax after work and before her wedding in August 7 th . Secretly, Lucy hoped to get her mind off the fact that it would’ve been her mother’s fifty-third birthday, if she hadn’t been murdered at the age of forty-three. Ilsa, knowing perfectly well which day it was, imagined her hidden intentions, but for Robin it was just a happy Wednesday. She hadn’t seen Strike that day either, since he had the day packed with physiotherapy, swimming therapy for the leg too, and finishing arrangements for Lucy and Gwen’s wedding, as he was best man.

“I haven’t bought a dress for your wedding yet, now that I think about it,” Robin commented casually as she examined some blouses in a store.

“Well, you can forget about it,” Ilsa chuckled. “That’s arranged already.”

“What?” Robin looked at Ilsa as if she was an alien. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, you’re going to ruin it if I tell you, just wait a couple days and you will have it,” said Ilsa, putting an arm loose around Lucy’s hips. Robin had noticed Ilsa was more affective today with Lucy than normally with anyone. She rolled eyes and chuckled, wondering what was the surprise about. “Did you finish with the music for the wedding?” Ilsa asked Lucy softly as the three walked to another store.

“Yeah,” Lucy smiled a little and it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Robin looked attentively at this, but brushed it off. “Sappy, romantic, all that my lovely Gwen likes.”

“Speaking of her, where is she?” Robin asked as they entered another store and started looking around clothes.

“Uh, she had a parents’ meeting this afternoon, couldn’t change it,” Lucy replied, already taking a look at a beautiful dress.

Lucy and Gwen were both teachers at a big school that had education from nursery to secondary. Lucy was an English Literature teacher for the secondary school levels while Gwen taught English for the first four primary school levels. They had met in university back in Exeter, became best friends, and never separated.

“So how does it work at school?” asked Robin once they left the store with a few bags and were looking for somewhere to eat an ice-cream and rest their feet. She had a playful smirk. “I mean, the two English teachers are shagging, must be the gossip of the kids.” She snorted a laugh and Ilsa chuckled rolling eyes.

“Well,” Lucy smiled a little, “we actually have never told anyone in the school that we’re together. We ‘casually’ did the interviews for the jobs one after the other and ‘casually’ got along really well, although our ways have always crossed very little since even our schedules are different her being in primary and I in secondary... but we kept it in our pants. And then, last Christmas Gwen gets on one knee...”

“Oh God,” Robin chuckled, always there for the lesbian romance. Lucy couldn’t help but smile bigger and it did reach her eyes this time.

“...and proposes to me in the middle of our family lunch in St. Mawes. Apparently she had been waiting to have asked permission to my uncle and aunt and Cormoran, because she’s seen too much XIX Century movies. Anyway, when the holidays were over, since like I said, our paths don’t really cross much in school nor we work alongside the same teachers or students, we decided not to tell in school, aside from a couple teachers who are friends and invited to the wedding. Anyone else there who knows us both must be thinking we’re casually marrying on the same day,” Lucy explained.

“Oh! I thought it was what students gossiped about,” they entered an ice-cream parlour and got in line for the ice-cream.

“We’d like to avoid that,” said Lucy. “Imagine that the parents know and they don’t fancy the idea of their children having two non-straight teachers who on top of it are married to each other. Normal people are okay with it, but there are jackasses who probably will think we have sex in the bathroom during recess.”

“Okay but do you?” Robin chuckled. Lucy laughed and blushed.

“We had Exeter for that sweetie,” Lucy answered with a wink.

“Been there, done that,” Ilsa and Lucy laughed together. Robin’s jaw dropped.

“Always-well-behaved lawyer Ilsa Herbert!” Robin laughed. “But how? Didn’t you and Nick go to completely different Universities?” Robin knew Nick and Ilsa had been together for almost eleven years, hence them being married so young. They got first in line.

“I wasn’t with Nick in University,” Ilsa explained her, after they had bought their ice-creams and had sat down in the parlour’s back garden. Robin looked surprised.

“But I thought you had been together for like... the longest time!”

“With an interruption,” Ilsa nodded. “We got together in 1991, all right?” Robin nodded, like a child listening to her mum’s love story. “Since I lived in St. Mawes and him here, we wrote letters pretty constantly. I’ve got a collection of them.”

“Fucking romantic,” Robin chuckled, her mouth full of pistachio ice-cream. Ilsa smiled sweetly with a nod.

“That went on for three years,” said Ilsa then. “And we’d come and go to each other every holiday. Our families met and all. And when Cormoran came to London and went back to St. Mawes, we would give him presents for the other and all. Then I had to go to University, so I naturally went to London’s City Law School, and we were supposed to stick together. We survived until March came, and by then we had been fighting a lot, because he was in his last year before going to Cambridge for med school which meant working really hard to get in, and I had to work very hard just to survive, it’s law. We were pursuing two hyper demanding careers, studying so hard... we wouldn’t see each other for weeks at times, and rarely sent letters anymore, there wasn’t time. So we broke up.”

“Shit...” Robin would’ve been really sad if she didn’t know there was a happy ending.

“It broke our hearts pretty badly, truth be told. We were a mess... but then, it was just two years more, you know? I always thought once I was out and working I could work in London and we’d be together then. That if only he was studying it’d be easier...” continued Ilsa, while eating her ice-cream. Lucy, even though she knew the story, always liked to hear it again. To her it was destiny personified and the greatest love story. “But that same year, I got it going with a classmate, Harry. He has... everything. Super smart, super attractive, shared my interests and passions, good family, humble, kind, hard-working, funny... at first it was a rebound, and I always felt like it wasn’t exactly like with Nick, but I convinced myself it was better and the next year Nick was dating a classmate of his anyway so... I figured this was what was supposed to happen, we both would be happy with someone else and it was what I wanted for him so...” Ilsa shrugged. “Corm told us both we were stupid and tried to intercede, without success.”

“Cormoran interceding?” Robin laughed. Ilsa chuckled and nodded.

“Hey, he does but only when he really has to. It’s like Batman,” said Lucy with a smirk. “Got my head out of my arse too back in the day, so I’d stop being scared of telling the family about Gwen. He was the first I told.”

“Yeah,” Ilsa nodded.

“What happened then?” Robin asked, caught up in the romance.

“Well, I graduated in the 97th, right at the same time Cormoran dropped out of Oxford and went to the RAF and Nick was still in University for a year more since my birthday is in April, so I was a school-year ahead them both, and then another year more because med school is four years. And he was still with Claire and I was still with Harry, and Cormoran wasn’t there anymore to get our heads out of our arses,” Ilsa answered. “But I found a job in London while I did post-graduate studies like masters, and same for Harry and we got a flat together in Fulham. We spent the summer in Cornwall and then he went and proposed and I said yes, for some reason.”

“Shut it!” Robin covered her mouth with her hands and Lucy and Ilsa laughed.

“Don’t panic, now’s the best part,” said Lucy elbowing her lightly as she ate her own ice-cream.

“Indeed,” Ilsa nodded. “During the Christmas holidays, Cormoran came back from a deployment, and we fought big for the only time in our lives. He got furious saying how did I dare to marry the first guy who passed by, that I barely knew Harry, that he thought I was way smarter than that and that I was being a stupid, brainless girl and a major disappointment because he expected better of me,” Robin’s eyes widened, not imagining Strike like that. “I flipped. I don’t think we’ve ever shouted at each other like that, it was tremendous. He even shouted that just because I was heartbroken about Nick didn’t mean that I should make the biggest mistake of my life, and he added that Claire wasn’t even that good and that if I had some guts I’d be fighting for ‘my one true love’ instead of losing my time. He said one thing was that Nick lost his time with Claire because he’s always been a bit slow to grasp things like that and because Corm said he suspected Nick was only with her because I had gone with someone else relatively little after our break-up, hurting Nick by making him think I didn’t love him that much, so Nick was entitled to console himself a little, but Cormoran said I was far too intelligent and too in love with Nick to throw it away marrying someone like Harry and letting Nick be with Claire. But I just couldn’t ruin Nick and Claire, you know? I thought she was better for him.”

“Oh... God...” Robin pouted. She had always thought of Matthew and her’s story as romantic, but this was many levels ahead.

“Still, it wouldn’t leave my mind for weeks. Cormoran refused to support my wedding, he didn’t want to be best man or anything.”

“Woah...”

“We didn’t spoke for weeks either. He was indignant,” Ilsa chuckled. “Later on he confessed to me that when Nick and I first got together he rolled eyes and thought it was just some relationship, but that when years passed and he kept seeing how we were together... he said it was like seeing Ted and Joan and that he knew we were just meant to be. That’s why he was so majorly pissed off, that and because to him I’m one sister more, I don’t have other siblings... and he hated the idea that I’d be with Harry and call it love when he didn’t think it was that. I’m not even sure it was really love, not when Nick was always in the back of my mind, always comparing them... anyway... Cormoran’s words did it. When March came, my official break-ups month apparently, I had a major fight with Harry, after weeks of things going downhill, and we broke up. Then I drove all the way to Cambridge, I remember it was snowing at all. I looked for Nick everywhere, we weren’t that close anymore, and I finally found him in the library. He was with Claire, and she had never seen me, so I wrote a note in a paper...”

“A love letter,” Robin smiled. Ilsa grinned and nodded.

“It basically said that I was sorry, that I loved him, and that he could be with Claire now, but that I wasn’t going to marry Harry because one day, I would marry him.”

“Woah!” Robin grinned, enthusiastic.

“I bent the letter and I had like been crying and all, but I had a plan. I passed behind Nick while he wasn’t looking, too focused in his medical books, and took one of the anatomy books he had on the table,” said Ilsa, continuing with the story. “I asked him if I could borrow the book one moment. Nick looked and he flipped, he couldn’t even talk. We might not have seen each other in years by then, he had even grown a beard...”

“Nick with a beard,” Robin snorted a laugh. Ilsa giggled.

“So he nodded, I guess with Claire in front he didn’t know what the hell to do,” Ilsa continued.

“You have quite the pair of ovaries...” Robin murmured.

“I went out of their sight, found a page that was about the heart and all, and put the note inside, making sure it was visible from outside a little,” said Ilsa. “Then I returned the book, telling him the photos about the heart were quite fascinating. And I left. I picked up my things from the flat I shared with Harry and I went to the Herberts’ house. To be clear, they have two sons, so to them I was always the daughter they always wanted and we were family, so they let me stay in Nick’s room after I told them what happened, because Nick lived in a dorm in Cambridge. That night, Nick broke up with Claire and called me. We met outside his house in the middle of a snowfall, and we’ve never separated since. Ten months later we were engaged, and we married right when Nick finished his foundation school education in the 2000s and started the GP training, with Cormoran as our Best Man.”

“God...” Robin smiled sweetly, her eyes glassy. “That’s... God...”

“I know,” Ilsa laughed. “Add all the amounts of work and studying we had in between and you know why we called those ‘the hell years’ before we got back together.”

 

 

 


	14. Family feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the way what do you think of gay Luce?

Robin was moving around the remains of her ice-cream in the container, thinking of her own relationship with Matthew compared to Nick and Ilsa’s. They hadn’t had many love-letters nor desperate attempts of reaching each-other.

“How do you know when the one is the one?” Robin asked suddenly.

“Jesus, you remind me of Gaby and Ellie” Lucy snorted a laugh, thinking of her sisters.

“You’re my only girlfriends and the most successful love stories I know aside from my parents and my brother Stephen with his fiancée, so come on,” Robin smiled. Lucy and Ilsa exchanged an amused look. The sunny, warm day, shined over them.

“I don’t think one really knows,” said Lucy. “Is just... I don’t know, to me, and Gwen is the only relationship I’ve ever had, she was always my favourite person. And there are things... things you can’t pinpoint. To me being with her meant coming out as gay, meant living a life where some people may hate me for who I love, could’ve been my family, so I really did think of that question thousands of times and in the end it was just... my favourite person. The one who made days a little brighter, you know? And then the feeling of something underneath it all that I can’t pinpoint, but gives me the absolute knowledge that she is the one. Is like a feeling, intuitive... like when you know you’ve forgotten something and can’t tell what. And when I look at her in the eye, I know she feels the same way. It’s important, of course, to look at it with realistic eyes, not like a Disney love story, you see? Without mad obsession. Requires distancing a little bit and looking from outside and thinking, being realistic, am I just obsessed or in love with the idea of the love story I’ve built for us, or is this for real, what should be?”

“And you don’t know until you know,” added Ilsa, nodding. “Really, no warning, no receipt. I had a feeling when I met Nick at his and Corm’s joint fifteenth birthday party, we were making out like two seconds after Cormoran introduced us. It was like magnetism, it was honestly hard to avoid, not making out but being together. That night we talked until like... four in the morning or so.” Robin thought of the other night, talking with Cormoran until the wee hours. “It was all we did. Talk and talk. In the letters, in our dates, everywhere... but passionately. It was like... we couldn’t resist wanting to be near the other. Felt warm inside just by looking at him, still does. And about a year later, I was imagining us marrying, if I’m honest. We got along effortlessly, we still do, and even when we fight, it’s always with a background of affection and not wanting to hurt the other. And I’m a lawyer so when I fight... I _fight_. Shout. Everything. He’s the calm to my storms really,” Robin laughed. “So when we see things are getting too boiling, we have a method of just stopping altogether and going for a walk, together. Not to talk more necessarily, just be together, snuggling and watching a movie, whatever. So we can calm down because we love each other too much to throw sticks and stones, and remind the other than even with disagreements, there’s love still, underneath the shouting and everything else.”

“You two...” Robin shook her head, chuckling. “I bow to your feet.”

“All couples find the way of working together that works for them,” Lucy shrugged with a smirk. “Stick and Charlotte liked to fight 24/7, so that’s not the way. But Gwen and I kiss 24/7...”

“Which is totally the way,” Ilsa laughed.

Their conversation turned into random things as they gossiped about their new clothes and enjoyed the garden and the uncommon fine weather, and Robin kept seeing something odd about Lucy, like rather off, as if she wasn’t fully there, and Ilsa glanced suspiciously at Lucy too frequently to be normal. Still, Robin said nothing and eventually, Lucy spoke for herself.

“We’re having a dinner at my house tonight,” said Lucy, looking at Robin with her chin on her hand. Her engagement ring, a small one with a big diamond, shinned with the sun. Robin nodded. “All my siblings, Robbie, Gwen... Nick and Ilsa, because they basically go into the sibling category and otherwise Stick wouldn’t come, probably... anyway, it’s an annual thing we do. You can come if you want.”

“I can come if I want?” Robin frowned at the tone. It was as if Lucy was inviting her to something awful, by her face and tone.

“It may not be so amusing and great,” Lucy breathed out. “It’s just our way of...” she shrugged. “Of celebrating my mum’s birthday. She would’ve been fifty-three today.” Robin’s eyes widened and she nodded slowly. That’s why Strike had gotten so busy. “We started doing it when Ted and Joan adopted us, eight years ago,” Lucy said, playing with a napkin with which she was making a boat. “We were in St. Mawes for the holidays and we were all moody and sad, so Joan made a surprise dinner for all of us, our favourite things. And we could sit in family and catch up, spend time together, maybe talk about her if we felt like it. The next year, we repeated it, and it sort of became a party dinner for those of us that loved her, including Ilsa’s family and all. Instead of being alone each on their own thinking of the same person, accompany each other, you know? And it was also a way of keeping her memory alive, even more for Al or the twins, who barely remember her. In the end it became a tradition, no matter where we were or what we were up to, on July 31st we’d find a way to get together, the only one who sometimes didn’t make it because of the RAF was Corm, but even he tried, and in exchange if the rest of the year we didn’t want to even mention her, not even in Christmas, it was OK because there was this one day we would. Ted and Joan usually come, but this time they’ll do theirs in St. Mawes and we’ll do ours here, since we couldn’t all go for the day.”

“Sounds like a beautiful thing,” said Robin reaching a hand to squeeze Lucy’s. Now everything made sense.

“Yeah well...” Lucy shrugged. “I wasn’t sure about inviting you because I figured, you didn’t knew her and it’s not always all happy and pretty, I mean, it can get pretty sad... and there’s no need to ruin your dinner time.”

“I’ll be very happy to have my dinner time ruined then,” Robin grinned at Lucy, and this time, Lucy’s smile reached her eyes.

In the meantime, Strike had woken the first one at the Herbert’s household and was off to the graveyard before neither Ilsa nor Nick woke up for their very early jobs. Strike knew his siblings wouldn’t be in the graveyard at fucking seven-thirty in the morning, as his feet walked to the guitar-shaped grave –because Leda had always loved music, and guitars in particular- putting on it a huge bouquet of flowers.

“Happy birthday, mum,” said Strike in a grumpy murmur, straightening in his crutches. “I’d take you out for dinner but uh... dad stole us that, didn’t he?” Strike puffed, sitting on a grave in front of Leda’s. “You should’ve told me who he was, mum. But... I forgive you. For every single one of your mistakes... and I promise this time I’ll stay home. I won’t go away. I’ll be here for them. I’m going to be the big brother you saw me as... and I will make sure Luce’s wedding is the best it can be. Anyway...” Strike got up again. “Must go... love you, mum. Even though I think I’m just some nutter talking to a stone, but well. See ya...”

He devoted the rest of his day to being busy so much that by the time he made it to Lucy’s flat for dinner he was pretty drained, but happy upon having heard from a text of Nick that Robin would be joining, Ilsa had said. Lucy smiled at him as he came and gave him a quick hug.

“Hi, how was physiotherapy?” Lucy asked, looking beautiful but simple.

“It was okay,” Strike asked. “Am I the last one? The physiotherapy place is farther than I thought...”

“No, we’re waiting for Al. He said he was going out like, after lunch, and he isn’t back yet,” said Lucy with a hint of worry. “I’ll call him again...”

“Let him be, he’s probably in the tube,” Strike looked around. Robin, Danielle and Gwen were chatting and laughing standing with cups of wine and Nick, Ilsa and Robbie were chatting on the sofa. Ilsa tended to be more comfortable between men.

“Hi,” Strike gave a kiss to Ilsa’s cheek, a half hug to Nick and shook Robbie’s hand quickly before going to kiss the other girls on the cheek, Robin blushing as she felt his lips on her cheek. “How’s it going?”

“Great, you?” Gabby smiled at him with familiar eyes.

“Good, hungry,” Strike eyed food on the coffee table and reached to pick one of the little appetisers, thankful for Lucy and Gwen’s cooking abilities.

“I’ve missed you today,” said Robin approaching him with a little smile. She looked into his eyes, that looked specially serious, his expression specially sullen, with delicacy. Strike smiled a little at her.

“I missed you too,” said Strike, getting closer. “Ilsa said you went shopping, was it fun?”

“It was,” Robin took a step towards him too, feeling like an invisible force attracted her to him. Right then, the door opened and Al came in.

“Hi, sorry for the delay!” Al smiled a little.

“Finally, let’s go eat!” Gwen chuckled affectionately at the teenager.

“Yeah about that... I’m going with Brad, Evanna and the others. They got us tickets for a concert, I want to go,” said Al, looking carefully at Lucy.

“All right, well I suppose after dinner...”

“No, we’re going now. They’re waiting for me down in the street, I just came to get my wallet, I forgot it in my room,” said Al, apologetic. Lucy frowned.

“Al sweetie, today’s mum’s birthday. Annual dinner, remember? One day we all get together per year, you’re not going anywhere,” said Lucy softly. “Come on, is a special occasion...”

“Lucy, I am going. We agreed that if I stayed here it was to know the city and get some experience in being an independent adult for when I’m in Cambridge, you said you’d give me some freedom...”

“And I maintain it, but today we agreed you’d be here for dinner, for mum’s birthday...”

“We agreed? You said be home for dinner, it’s mum’s birthday, and I said fine and left, but I never promised to stay. I am home for dinner though, just about to leave,” he quickly walked into his room, leaving Lucy stupefied.

“What’s this little brat talking about?” Danielle frowned, getting up and looking at Cormoran and Lucy. “He’s not leaving, right? It’s mum’s birthday. We compromised to be here, every year, no matter what, celebrate her life, he can’t go to some concert.”

“What are you going to do, tie me to the bed?” Al emerged from his room. “I’m eighteen! I’m an adult, Jesus!”

“You are a semi-adult and as long as you live under my rooftop you’ll do as I say,” Lucy looked sternly at him. Al, bold as an authentic Strike, puffed.

“Then I’ll get my things and stay with Brad!” Al looked indignant but with resolve and Lucy looked at Strike in slight panic.

“Oh yeah? Will Brad also pay your meals, your clothes, your school material, your transport card and taxis? Because as far as I’m concerned your job doesn’t pay that well,” Strike frowned at Al. “You’re going to Cambridge, boy. Some maturity and discipline is expected out of you. If you want to be treated as an adult, then stop behaving as a bloody spoiled teenager.”

“I just need to survive one month and I’ll be in Cambridge, and my job pays well enough,” Al snapped at Strike. “I honestly don’t see why such insistence that I’m here. I don’t even remember her! For all I know, the closest I’ve got to a mum is Aunt Joan! When she dies, hopefully in many many years, then I’ll go to her birthday dinners.”

“Yeah but your mum isn’t Aunt Joan, her name was Leda and she was a fucking extraordinary person who deserves some respect, you owe her your life quite literally and you’re gravely disrespecting her with those comments,” Gabrielle said through grilled teeth. “Please, Alexander. Can you just quit this nonsense and sit down for dinner with your family who loves you? Hell, I’ll pay you tickets to any concert you want afterwards if it means so much to you.”

“Look, I won’t say she’s no one to me because you’re right, she is my mum and she did birth me,” said Al, nervous. “But don’t you all get it? When she died, you were sixteen, fourteen, and twelve. You have actual memories with her. I was eight. She worked like a madman and I barely saw her, I have maybe two memories of her, neither particularly significant. Anything I know of her is because I’ve been told. To me, Leda Strike is like my favourite book character, but nothing more that someone who lives through stories, and if I don’t get sentimental over characters I won’t for mum either, I’m sorry if it hurts you, but you could maybe try to understand my side? She’s a stranger!”

“We’ve worked very hard to keep her memory alive for y...” Strike started.

“And I appreciate it, Cormoran,” Al sighed, frustrated, interrupting him. “But you can’t keep alive a memory when there isn’t one to begin with. For all I remember of her, she could’ve been our neighbour. I remember dad. I miss dad,” Strike’s face hardened. “I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. I can’t feel for her the way you guys do and as my loving mother, I imagine she would’ve wanted me to be happy, and right now going to a concert makes me way happier than a dinner to hear stories once more that should make me tear up like it does to you but it just can’t happen when she’s such an stranger.”

“Let me tell you a little something you little shit,” Strike crutched to Al so fast Al stepped back. “Your name is Alexander _Wyatt_ Strike, because Cormoran Wyatt Strike was our grandfather, who died on August 8 th 1976, did you know him? No, but it’s in your name and you worshiped him when we were little...”

“I was a child...”

“It was mum, not Richard Fantoni, who birthed you, who painted with her own hands a room for you in a little shitty flat in Norwich, just for you, with mine and Lucy’s help, and I was eight but I have a better memory than you apparently,” Strike spoke angrily, glaring at Al. “And while your dear daddy went off and spent every penny he made as a shitty doctor in whores and alcohol, it was mum who worked four bloody jobs, four! To pay for your clothes, your food, a ceiling over your head, or a cake for your birthday. She had not one holiday for as long as I knew her and daddy dearest did nothing for this family. While you learned to talk, it was mum that you said first, it was to her arms that you crawled and later walked to, it was her smile that made you stop bloody crying at night. It was mum who sat with you to do your homework until the day she was killed, it was mum, not Richard Fantoni. You wanna know why she left that man you miss so much? Because he did nothing for his family. Because he shouted at us, he slapped her, he spent the nights with other women and came home drunk to be a shitty father, and you know why you miss him? Because he always favoured you, until the moment he got handcuffed. You were the favourite of him, his little Mr. Fantoni, and he bought you anything you asked for. But do you know who he was in reality?” Strike clenched his teeth and manoeuvred with one hand to open his shirt and let it fall enough to show part of his back, turning around to show Al the long scars that covered his back. “This! This is what your daddy used belts for!” he put his shirt back correctly and confronted Al’s horrified expression. “That’s the man you miss and that’s the reason why he’s gone for good and I hope dies a terrible slow death in prison. Now get out of here before I kick you out myself, little ungrateful bastard.” Strike murmured, seeing red. He had always kept his scars well hidden up until that day.

The room was frozen, and everyone had ended up on their feet. Al looked around to Lucy for support but she looked at him with teary eyes and shook her head.

“Lucy!” Al demanded of her. “Are you seriously going to let him talk to me like this?”

“That man stood between you and our violent, drunk father and gave you a real family. I’ve got nothing to resent him for,” Lucy murmured, her arms crossed. “But I think you should think who your real family is, Al. I’m not going to ask to invent an affection that isn’t there, but I expect a minimum of respect to our one family tradition from you, I expect you to respect her, I expect you to be loving to the woman who’s given you so much even if you don’t remember, and I expect you to gift her every one of her birthdays the best version of you, you can give. Go to that damn concert and we will talk tomorrow here, you and I alone, so you can let me know if I’m expecting too much of you.” Lucy, as always, was more cutting with her words and the calmest, without insulting or altering. Al nodded, glaring at her.

“Goodnight then,” Al opened the door and left. The room stayed in a tense, silent environment and Gwen moved to put Lucy into a hug.

 


	15. May I confess I love you?

“What are we going to do with Alex?” Gabrielle asked. They were mid dinner and had managed to cheer up the mood a little.

“What do you want to do?” asked Strike, enjoying a pint as if it was his last drink, Robin sitting by his side.

“I don’t know, but we shouldn’t leave things so... rough with him, right?”

“Perhaps when he starts behaving like an adult, things can be talked about calmly,” Robbie shrugged, looking at his girlfriend.

“He’s not saying such a drivel, though...” Robin murmured timidly. The four Strikes looked at her so suddenly and so intensely that she blushed. “I mean... get on his shoes... he doesn’t remember much of her, he must feel really awkward hearing about his own mother without remembering... which doesn’t justify he leaving, I mean, Gwen, Robbie, Nick, Ilsa and myself are here without knowing your mum like you, in Robbie, Gwen and mine’s case, we don’t know her at all, out of respect and affection towards you, but I guess Al must feel really left-out, or I don’t know, out of place, hearing people talk about his mum and feeling like she’s an stranger, guilty that he can’t feel like you, sad for having missed so much... I don’t think these things are any easy for him, even less than for you.”

“Robin’s not really wrong...” Nick supported. “Don’t you guys know that song....? One that says, you can’t make the heart feel something it won’t. You’re there trying to force into him certain feelings towards Leda by telling him stories and stuff and it just makes him feel more awkward. I think he would love to see her like you and feel for her like you, but he’s just accepted he can’t and went out to distract himself and pass from the one day a year in which is the most evident how much he’s missed, stressing the biggest wall between him and any of you. Perhaps in trying to help him you just made it worse...”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded in agreement. Strike was scowling at them. “Al still said things he shouldn’t have, but he’s just eighteen, you’re the adults. You want to teach with the example of mature adults? Then you go, apologise if you accidentally made him feel bad without expecting anything in return, and ask what you can do to make things better.”

“Sometimes I hate that you’re all so smart and psychology wise,” Lucy rolled eyes with a timid smile and Robin chuckled. “I’ll speak to him tomorrow and figure this out.”

“Well he won’t see an apology from me for sure,” grumbled Strike, eating his food calmly. Lucy looked at him with pleading eyes. “No Luce, he was majorly disrespectful to his elders. He comes to your house demanding and demanding... that’s all he knows to do. If he’s half the good boy I hope he is he better come and apologise first or he’ll just fall lower for me, honestly.”

“No one denies that Stick, but he was just hurting...” said Lucy.

“Stop defending him Luce,” said Strike. “Hurting? We’ve hurt. And we were always the first to apologise, weren’t we?”

“Don’t have so much pride...”

“It’s not a matter of pride,” Strike sighed, tired, looking at Lucy, who didn’t seem much less tired than him. “I’ve bowed my head enough Lucy. I’m not going to do it to him and I’m not going to apologise when I don’t feel sorry, I gave him the hard slap he needed to wake up, hopefully. Saying he missed that b.... God...”

“All right so, if he’s a good boy comes and apologises, all fixed,” Danielle seemed in agreement. “Next time though, someone needs to put him in bed without dinner.”

“We’re too young to have a teenager son,” Gwen chuckled at Lucy, kissing her shoulder. Lucy rolled eyes and smirked, leaning to peck her lips. “I do wish I had met her though. She seems an interesting person. Loving.”

“God, her hugs were just the best...” Danielle smiled to herself.

“Made you feel better with a smile,” Ilsa added, chuckling. “Always treated me like a daughter more.”

“And made excellent cookies,” Nick added. “Never got mad if I ate the last one.”

“You did it all the fucking time, mate,” Strike chuckled. “And then I have the fame of eating so much...”

“You still eat more than me!”

As they finished the dessert and tears and laughter had flown, the night had proven to be a success after all. It was time later that Strike got up with a sigh and the others looked at him questioningly.

“Where are you going?” Ilsa asked.

“To find Al and bring him home. It’s past midnight, that concert was over three hours ago, I saw it on the phone,” said Strike. “I’ll pay a taxi and make sure he comes back safely.”

“I thought you were going to wait and let me speak with him...?” Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Bold wasn’t willing to bend?”

“Mr. Bold is going to have to bend,” Strike shrugged. “Mum made me promise that if something ever happened to her, I’d take care of my siblings. Al has been here for a month and doesn’t know London that much, is with some friends we don’t know, and is probably upset and getting drunk, if he’s anything like a Strike. And we don’t let family go to sleep upset. So I bend because that’s what big brothers do, I suppose.” Lucy smiled at him.

“Want me to go with you?”

“Nah, it’s fine...” Strike grabbed his jacket. “We’ll have some beers or something. From the eldest to the youngest brat. You guys have fun.”

“Text me when you’re in your place,” said Robin, catching him by surprise. Blushing, she added. “So I know the eldest brat also made it to bed safely.” She added with a chuckle. Strike smiled and nodded, leaning to give her another kiss on the cheek.

After Strike was gone, Lucy looked at Robin.

“Please tell me you totally have the hots for Cormoran.”

Strike’s knowledge of London’s street was profound, although he didn’t fancy having to crutch all the way down Mayfair to the pub he knew, for Brad’s Facebook pictures, Al was in. Strike saw them through the window from the distance and waited, sitting on a bench in an area where he could see without being seen, until the group exited the pub, which took almost an hour since he got there. Finally, it seemed like the group divided outside and Strike followed Al down the street. After a while, Strike saw Al enter the graveyard and the man stopped by Leda’s grave, that by that hour, was covered in flowers. Strike, curious, gave him a few minutes until Al made the move to leave.

“Al!” Strike called. Al turned around and rolled eyes waiting for Strike to get to him with the crutches.

“Spying now?” Al looked pretty drunk and his eyes were glassy.

“I’m sorry,” said Strike, breathless. “Look, Al... I know I’ve been too rough, but we’ve done everything, including these dinners, thinking it was the best for you. We’ve always had you in mind. I’m sorry if it still wasn’t right.” Al sighed.

“You failed to ask me what I wanted.”

“What do you want?”

“To know her as well as you all, love her that much... but I can’t.” Al shook his head and Strike’s expression of sullen crossness deepened.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t resent you for that, and neither will we,” Strike whispered. “I don’t know how to talk about her without... I don’t know, rubbing it on your face that you don’t know her?”

“You can’t,” Al shrugged. “I think maybe it’s my problem. Maybe I just need to get over it.”

“Maybe you could just tell us you’re jealous, sad, angry. And maybe then it’s as easy as this,” Strike moved forward and hugged him as best as his crutches allowed.

“I’m sorry for all I’ve said and done,” said Al, his chin on Strike’s shoulder, his arms around the bigger bulk of his brother.

“It’s okay... We tend to be stubborn assholes sometimes, in this family. Me included.” Al snorted a laugh and they pulled apart. Strike smiled a little.

“You’re right. This does help.”

Once Al was safely in a taxi going home, Strike stood looking around in his crutches, London dark and cold with the lights of the bigger buildings and the cars reflecting on the windows of the businesses, and in his heart, the way home appeared crystal clear, as his mind filled with thoughts of his mother, born over fifty years prior, never knowing true love from other men than himself and her brother, but never romantic, passionate love. Life was too short. There wasn’t time to wait.

When his fist came into his view to knock Robin’s door, he thought for a second that it was strange. The walk there had happened in a zombie state, his arms moving his crutches, a walk he could’ve normally done in ten minutes, twenty at most, took him almost forty minutes, but sweating and with cramps in his arms, he had finally made it. It took a while of knocking but he finally heard quick steps behind the door. He hadn’t texted her or anything.

“Coming! Who is it?!”

“Cormoran!” the door yanked open and Robin looked at him, in her pyjamas –a gray sleeveless t-shirt and short, plaid pants- with a slight frown and tired eyes.

“Cormoran? What are you doing here?” she whispered. “Are you okay?” Strike smiled at her concern.

“Yeah... I missed you.”

“You missed me? But I just saw you...” Robin looked confused. Strike grinned, crutching inside as she stepped aside to let him inside. He knew he looked pathetic in front of her beauty, her hair all dishevelled and perfect, their bodies so close in such a small space.

“I just... I don’t want you to die one day without knowing what being truly loved feels like,” said Strike, only making her more confused as she tried to convince her sore, sleepy brain to work. “I wanted to tell you...” Strike gulped, braving up. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” Robin’s eyes widened, “and I think it’s important that you know how loved and how important you are because otherwise... you might stop believing in true love or think love is what Matthew did, and that’d be wrong... I’m not saying you should want me because I’m falling in love with you, nor that you should feel the same for me or be with me... I didn’t come here to ask you out and I know you deserve way more than me, so I wouldn’t do that... I just don’t want you to start another month of your life without being certain that you are more than good enough, even if he couldn’t see your worth. You are worth everything... You are an amazing person, there’s nothing wrong with you, and one day, you’re going to meet someone equally amazing, someone who deserves you, and you’ll love each other so hard that you will forget what betrayal feels like.”

He stood there, breathless and grinning like a fool, and Robin blinked and her lips opened and closed like a fish, and her eyes got glassy and she looked utterly confused.

“Cormoran, I...” Robin stood, shocked and speechless.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in...” Strike smiled nevertheless, and Robin nodded, rubbing the sleep off her face with a hand. “I’m going to bed now. It’s just that I couldn’t stop thinking how you’re here all alone and then burying yourself in work and uh... and you were right, humanity is rotten and the world’s so cold... but that should never make you doubt your worth. You’re a very loved person, Robin.”

“Thank you,” Robin smiled a little. “It’s very nice of you to say.” Strike nodded.

“Goodnight, and thanks for coming tonight...” Strike smiled and manoeuvred to open the door.

“How was it with Al?” Robin asked suddenly. Strike chuckled.

“All good now,” he turned around to look at Robin again, and Robin stood cautiously by the door, still wrapping her mind about what had just happened. Had he just confessed to be falling for her? “You know... your smile lights up the world. You should know.”

The lift opened and Robin stared, shocked, as she heard him grunt out of exhaustion, crutching inside.

“Cormoran!” Robin said suddenly. Strike pushed the button to keep the doors open. “I... uh...” she couldn’t say she loved him. It wasn’t right. Strike smiled warmly at her, only confusing her further.

“Calm down... I’m not yours to love. I’m just here to keep your eyes open. Goodnight Robin.”

The lift closed.

 


	16. Realizations

“You _are_ joking,” said Lucy.

It wasn’t even seven yet, the sun had barely been up for a bit, and Robin had just spit out all of the nights’ events to Lucy, Gwen and Ilsa as they sat in the flat’s kitchen. Al was still in bed. Ilsa was already in her suit ready for the work-day, her office not far from Lucy and Gwen’s, while Lucy and Gwen were still in their pyjamas, not having to get ready for school yet.

“Believe me, I wish I was.”

The kitchen was small and cramped, but the four squeezed just fine around the small table, big mugs of tea and coffee in their hands and a big plate of mini-croissants in front of them. Robin didn’t look like someone who just had been told by a Flight Lieutenant that he was falling in love for her. She hadn’t managed to sleep much and had bags under her eyes. She had cried most of the night and her eyes were still swollen. Robin sighed in despair supporting her forehead in one hand as the other cradled her mug. The three friends exchanged confused glances.

“What’s the drama, Rob?” Gwen asked finally. “So Cormoran’s falling in love with you, you’re probably the only one surprised, so what? You obviously at least like him too, we see how you look at him. You should be going on a date with him, not looking about to cry.”

“He can’t fall for me! He can’t come and be so sweet, tender and considerate, not even coming for a kiss like in the movies but just so I feel good no matter what happens to him, he can’t be so loveable and we can’t be together! He should be telling all those things to someone who is worth of him, someone who can be with him, not me! And now how am I going to even look at him? He said you’re loved and I said thank you! Thank you!” Robin rambled, shaking her head, anguished and taking deep breaths to calm herself.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m a teacher of teenagers,” said Lucy, frowning. “Why wouldn’t you be worth of him? One thing is that my brother thinks he isn’t because he’s dealing with his leg and probably doesn’t half his self-esteem in a good place, but have you looked at yourself? You’re the loveliest person there is! Who wouldn’t like you?”

“No! Just because I look nice and I’m a nice person... that’s all you all see! And there’s much more, and I’m not half as good as it seems and if he saw all there is to see he’d be running away from me instead of this!”

“Running aw...” Ilsa shook her head, scowling. “You are Cormoran’s psychologist, you do know he’s got quite the baggage so he’s not going to point fingers at you, and do you really strike him as someone who would run away from you just because you’ve got your inner storms like, by the way, everyone else in the world does? You know him better than that, he was with Charlotte...”

“Precisely! I can’t be one girl more who ruins him, who makes him unhappy, one more nutter he tries to save...”

“You are not a monster, for fuck’s sakes,” Ilsa interrupted, frustrated. “You’re not a nutter either... Robin, I’m sorry, but I fail to see why you’re attacking yourself like this. What is so terrible about you that you want to protect Corm from?”

Robin looked down, her lip trembled, and when a sob escaped her lips she covered her face with one hand and started crying.

“Robin, sweetie...” Ilsa, who was closer, put her arms around her and patted her back, murmuring comforting words, as Robin fell against her shoulder, crying heavily. Lucy’s face filled with concern and she exchanged worried looks with Gwen. “Rob, I’m so sorry if I said something wrong, please, don’t cry...”

It took full ten minutes to calm Robin down, but at last Robin sat down breathing heavily and rubbing her eyes with a tissue Gwen handed her. Luckily she hadn’t put on make-up that morning. Robin took a deep breath before finally speaking.

“Two years ago I was raped,” Robin blurted out in a whisper. The other three girls looked at her intently, petrified, and Robin looked down at her cooling tea. “I had just graduated and my friends and I decided to spend a few days in a camper travelling around Scotland before each of us went off their separate lives. It was supposed to be a small trip to enjoy a country we had been in for three years without having to be stressed about studying or anything. And one night,” her lip trembled and she bit it, her voice sounding hoarse as her eyes filled with tears again, “we were at a local party in a small village, we had drunk, and I was tired, so I went to sleep, we were spending the night in a little inn, it wasn’t even far, I could go by myself perfectly well... but I was tipsy and confused a street, we had only been there for some hours and at night it was harder to see clearly... so I asked this young dude for directions. He said he’d take me there himself and I thought it was villagers’ kindness because I come from a small town and it’s what I’m used to and uh...” she shook her head and rubbed her eyes. Ilsa squeezed her with one arm and slowly, Robin calmed herself down again. “He grabbed me by the neck and I played dead to survive,” she whispered eventually. “An actual nice villager found me and called 999 and they took me to the hospital until my parents picked me up the next day and took me home, and then I couldn’t leave my room for months. I was so agoraphobic when I finally left my room I still couldn’t leave my house, and in the meantime Matthew was shagging that girl... I remember the guy well enough to give evidence and they arrested him and there was proof enough but still he got away because they said I had gone with him willingly and consented, and he was a local, many people had good things to say about him, while I was a foreigner that, in their eyes, came looking for rough sex and now wanted some money ruining a poor twenty-something-year-old’s life. On top of that,” her voice quivered as her eyes filled with tears, “the bastard left me pregnant, I aborted it because I couldn’t cope with having a part of him inside of me for any longer, and then he found out and sued me, and if it wasn’t because he couldn’t prove the child was his, I would’ve had to pay him some money. So I didn’t leave my house at all until my last birthday, when Matthew managed to get me into a restaurant in Masham and asked me to marry him. By then I had already seen the add about Afghanistan so when November came, I was gone. It’s why I left. I wanted my life back and I figured if I learned something from the soldiers I’d manage. That I’d feel safer. The rapist took my only one sexual experience ever, because I was saving up for later with Matt...” she sighed, rubbing tears away from her eyes. “If Cormoran sees how screwed up I am I won’t be able to help him anymore, don’t you understand? If he knows the truth... he’ll feel too bad for me and I won’t be able to help like now. He’ll be worried for me all the time, he’ll start feeling like he needs to care for me... and he’s the one who needs my help now. I can help myself, I have, and I’m fine, but he needs me.”

For a few minutes, no one said a word, as they were all too lost in their thoughts, but then Lucy reached a hand over the table and squeezed Robin’s.

“Robin,” the strawberry-blonde haired looked up at her with devastation in her eyes. “Your friendship with Cormoran has twice the value your professional relationship with him does. You need to let him be your best friend like you’re his, and you can help him like that more than you think, you can help each other... and if your professional relationship gets ruined, he can find someone else if he needs to, but your kind of friendship... that can’t be substituted. A friendship is something of two, right? He tells you his storms and you help him... and you tell him yours and he helps you. Don’t deny yourself the care you need.”

“Lucy’s right...” Ilsa whispered, patting Robin’s knee lightly. “Afghanistan won’t set you free. Love might.”

“But what if he reacts wrong?” asked Robin. “What if I lose him?”

“I know my brother, and he appreciates people opening up to him and being honest more than friends who hide things and lie, even if it is with good intentions.” Lucy smiled a little at him.

“Rob, you went through something terrible,” Gwen looked sadly at her. “What are you gonna do, make your world a little colder pushing someone who is falling for you away? He’s always told you every one of his hells, even if it was hard, and not because you’re a psychologist but because you’re his best friend... you didn’t disappoint and neither will he. But you need to be honest and maybe... just maybe, let him love you like you deserve.”

“I can’t even make love to him, how is he supposed to want me? Even if all you guys say was true...”

“We’re talking about a man who just got his leg exploded, I doubt he’s thinking much about sex...” Ilsa smirked at her a little. “But hey, so what if you two can’t...? until two days ago, he hated physical contact, he’s not going to get mad for that. Don’t you see he doesn’t want you for himself? He wants you for what you do on your own. For you. For your smiles and your laughter, for your kindness and your affection, for your intelligence and your understanding, for the way you think and the things you like. He came just to make you feel loved last night, not to get even a kiss. You go first for him. You’re always first. And now more than ever, I’m sure he would love to love you... and I think you would love to love him too.”

Robin looked at them intently. What the hell was she doing?

 


	17. Kiss properly

Closing the practice for the day, Robin jogged upstairs and waited for Cormoran nervously. Her text had been simple. ‘ **Please meet me in my flat as soon as it’s convenient for you. Robin xx** ’. Robin showered, got into comfortable clothes, walked around nervously for ten minutes, had a second breakfast, tried unsuccessfully to focus on the newspapers. At last, Strike knocked on the door and Robin smiled nervously at him.

“Hi, sorry I took so long, had physiotherapy and all...” Strike apologised, nervous.

“That’s okay,” Robin motioned inside and they walked into the sitting-room, where she had already prepared tea and pastries.

“Are you okay?” Strike asked, as always putting her first, and Robin’s heart warmed at the thought.

“I’m all right...” Robin sat on the sofa and patted the space beside her, so he flopped there. “I wanted to thank you for what you said last night. I know I wasn’t very awake then but... it truly meant a lot to me. It was very brave of you.” She smiled at him and he smiled warmly.

“It was you who pushed me to try and make the world a little warmer with what you said at that dinner we had, remember?” she nodded a little. “Are you really fine?”

“I was talking with the girls and... they made me realise I need to be more honest with you. Tell you the truth. About why I stayed in Masham, why I went to Afghanistan, everything...” Strike nodded. “That’s why I told you to come.”

“Then I’m all ears.”

And Robin talked. She told him everything, in a way calmer way than he had achieved with the girls, and Strike listened in absolute silence, looking at her intently, nodding every now and then to show he was listening and understanding. Once she had finished, she looked at him cautiously and he took a deep breath, his expression hardened with the anger from knowing the bastard was free and all the pain Robin had been going through, understanding the magnitude of Matthew’s betrayal. He then moved a hand face up and Robin took it, feeling his gentle squeeze.

“I won’t ever let someone hurt you like that again, Robin... Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” said Strike softly.

“You’re not mad I didn’t say before? That I lied?”

“You have a right to protect your privacy by all the necessary means,” Strike shook his head. “I could never get angry at you for that. You did what you thought was best.”

“Last night...” Robin shrugged, looking down. “I would’ve liked to tell you I think I’m falling in love with you too, but I couldn’t bear the thought of doing that when you didn’t know the worst of my story, when I had lied to you... I want you to love me knowing everything, not just what’s pretty. And I also thought... that of course you’re worth of me, it’s me who I didn’t think... I think you could do better than me.” Strike’s eyes widened and he frowned, putting a finger under her chin and lifting it up. His dark green eyes looked into her light, blue-gray ones intently.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Robin, you’re perfect just the way you are,” Strike smiled warmly at her, his frown disappearing. Robin smiled back.

“You really think so?”

“I could bet my remaining leg on it,” Robin snorted a laugh.

“Brute,” Strike chuckled.

“Anything, as long as it makes you laugh.” They looked at each other intently, and Robin remembered Ilsa’s words about hers and Nick’s magnetism.

Before she could register who had gone closer to who, Strike’s hand was cupping her jaw and Robin’s behind his ear, buried in his curls, and their lips brushed tentatively once before pressing into one sweet kiss.

They ate pastries and drank tea between laughter and stolen kisses as they snuggled together in the sofa and talked about the day. It leaded to them lying down on the sofa, Robin on top of Strike, a blanket over them as they hugged, exchanged some kisses every now and then, and enjoyed each other’s company as they relaxed into the comfortable embrace.

“Will you go to an official date with me?” Strike whispered after a while, playing with Robin’s hair absentmindedly while their fingers intertwined over his chest, his nose brushing against her forehead.

“Only if you become my boyfriend,” Robin smiled looking up at him, and he grinned.

“I’d be damned if I wouldn’t,” he leaned for a kiss and Robin grinned into it, feeling herself warm and happy inside in a way she had never felt. It was like living a dream.

When Strike’s eyes opened a while later, Robin was snoozing into his neck, one of his big arms was wrapped around her, and smiled to himself. He then noticed Robin’s phone vibrating on the coffee-table and he took it, curious. If it was someone important, he could wake Robin up, but he wasn’t risking it for anyone. A dark bar appeared on the upper part with the beginning of emerging messages. They all came from a text group called ‘The Musketeers’ and the first text was from Lucy ‘ **Robsie! Stick’s not answering...** ’ then another ‘ **pls tell me it went g...** ’ he couldn’t see the full texts if they were long without opening them, but he saw another beginning front Ilsa ‘ **they’re probs snogging, Luce** ’ and then Gwen ‘ **LOL so romantic** ’ and Ilsa ‘ **OR he’s boring her 2 death w Lat...** ’ Strike laughed softly, and Robin moved as his chest moved up and down with his laugh. She snuggled tighter like a Boa Constrictor and Strike smiled kissing her forehead. Last text was from Lucy ‘ **Good luck sis!** ’ to what Gwen added ‘ **kiss him proper!** ’ Strike tried to open the texts, not meaning to pry but out of amusement, and the keyboard to introduce a password appeared. He tried with the date of the day they met out of a hunch, and it worked. Smiling for himself, he opened the texting group and read the full texts.

‘ _Luce Strike:_ _ **Robsie! Stick’s not answering his phone, I take that you two are having fun?**_

_Luce Strike:_ _**pls tell me it went good and you’re being lovebirds! We need gossip here.** _

_Ilsa:_ _**they’re probs snogging, Luce** _

_Gwenie:_ _**LOL so romantic** _

_Ilsa:_ _**OR he’s boring her 2 death with Latin, we know how he is. In such case, stay strong, my friend!** _

_Luce Strike:_ _**Good luck sis!** _

_Gwenie:_ _**kiss him proper!** _ _’_

Strike had to bit his lip to avoid laughing, and he decided to give them a little something. He put the phone with the frontal camera on in the perfect position to show Robin cutely sleeping against his neck, a hand gently over his clavicle, with a blanket covering up to their chests and Strike’s arm wrapped around her tightly. Her hair was dishevelled but it was obvious they were both dressed, and she looked super peaceful, while he looked ten years younger, his stubble a bit too long and his eyes unusually bright with life. Strike grinned and kissed Robin’s forehead closing his eyes as he pressed the button, sending the sweet photo into the group, along with a quick text ‘ **guess who got a PROPER girlfriend?** ’. He was sure the girls would flip.

A while later, as he and Robin ate lunch, he showed it to her and she laughed, reading out-loud their friends’ hysterical responses.

“I didn’t mean to invade your privacy I just checked to see if I needed to wake you up and was so amused and tempted... won’t happen again.” Strike added quickly, kissing her shoulder. Robin grinned big.

“Are you kidding me? This is perfect. And this is the best photo ever,” Robin cupped his face and, as their lips met again, Strike felt the luckiest man alive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for the comments and support!
> 
> If you like to, you can follow me in my tumblr https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/ where I basically post about Cormoran Strike and its actors, quotes, bits of Harry Potter and a tiny bit of Krashlyn (two USWNT players that are lesbian TOGETHER).
> 
> Hugs to you all!


	18. His hands on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who gives me spoilers on Lethal White will receive a distance hug and special mentions. Love me some spoilers.

“Can this be our first date?” Robin chuckled as she enjoyed a huge dish of pasta Strike had prepared, while Strike had distracted from the main course and was busy looking at Robin like she put the stars in the sky. He laughed and nodded.

“Anything you want,” said Strike. “Just ask.”

“A kiss?”

“Easy,” Strike grinned leaning to kiss her lips covered in cheese sauce, licking his own lips as he pulled apart. “God, I’m such a great chef aren’t I?”

“The best,” Robin threw an arm around Strike’s neck and kissed him once more.

After a bit of kissing, they finished their meal trying not to interrupt each other too much for a kiss, but they both felt so drunk it was almost impossible. Finally they finished and Strike stood up on his crutches.

“I’ve got to go, doctor’s appointment for a check-up,” said Strike, looking apologetic.

“Oh, I can drive you if you want,” Robin offered getting up. “Crutching all day must be exhausting...” Strike smiled a little and gave a nod.

“Let’s go then,” Robin smiled as she followed him outside, grabbing her purse and keys before going to get the Land Rover.

While Strike was attended in the hospital, Robin treated herself to an ice-cream near the hospital, having been warned by Strike that it would probably take an hour at least. Robin thought this was strange, but just smiled, kissed him goodbye and went to wait for him while refreshing herself. She laughed at her phone seeing ‘The Musketeers’ texts and saw Ilsa invited them for dinner at their place saying one of the patients Nick saw during his GP training had gifted him lobsters out of gratitude after having healed from cancer thanks to Nick’s quick detection of it during a routine check-up and they didn’t know what to do with so many, so they were having a big dinner.

Accepting the invite, Robin finished her ice-cream and after waiting a few more minutes, she walked slowly around, just enjoying the walk and doing some tourism, and when she thought it was about time Strike was done, she walked back to the hospital. She didn’t enter, because it was enough remembering the time entering it so frequently when Strike was there, but waited outside patiently until she saw Strike walking outside. And her jaw dropped. He was still using his crutches, but he was also using a leg prosthesis, he had probably snuck the necessary shoe inside his bag when he had asked her to stop by Nick and Ilsa’s momentarily to grab his bag with all the creams and everything for his leg.

“Woah!” Robin grinned seeing him come. “Corm, look at you!” Strike grinned reaching her and leaning for a kiss.

“Fancy, isn’t it?” Strike looked down at his fake leg. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but we had been talking about starting this today for weeks.” Robin beamed.

“How does it feel?”

“A bit weird, if I’m honest. Painful if I support my full weight on it, that’s why I’m still on crutches, but Mr. Chakrabati said I could use a cane instead, which could be a nice change. For now I’m just supposed to use the prosthesis every now and then, never more than eight hours in a row and always with breaks, and to use it just as a help and to get used to one, no running, and no supporting full weight on it yet. I wanted to walk Lucy down the aisle properly,” he confessed with a little small.

“Well congratulations,” Robin felt so happy for him she couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re going to be able to stun her tonight because Ilsa has just invited everyone for dinner. Apparently Nick was given lobsters and they have to eat them before they get bad, but you three can’t alone so we’re coming to help.” Strike snorted a laugh.

“What kind of friends I have that underestimate my stomach like that?” Robin laughed.

The two went directly to the Herbert’s house and found Ilsa sitting on the dining table surrounded by papers, presumably working from home.

“Hi guys!” Ilsa smiled at them warmly from her papers. “And congrat... IS THAT A LEG?!”

“Yes, it grew back!” Strike joked with a chuckle. Ilsa cheered and ran to greet them properly. “I’m a quintuple robot.”

“So cool! Is it comfy?” Ilsa asked happily. She was in her work suit and heels and eyed the leg with curious eyes.

“Uh, it’s okay,” he shrugged. “Not too bad. I’m going to leave one crutch in my room, I think I can manage with just one.”

“Want some beer guys?” Ilsa offered.

“You don’t ask that,” Strike shouted as he walked to his room. Robin laughed and followed Ilsa into the kitchen, grabbing three bottles of Doom Bar before sitting on the sofa.

“So what’s that about?” Robin asked pointing with her bottle to the dining table.

“That’s a complicated case, I just prefer working from home sometimes, so after lunch I just took it and came home,” said Ilsa taking a sip of her drink. “Been on it for hours, I appreciate the break. So how’s it going with you two?” she added as Strike joined them, flopping on the sofa beside Robin with a large box with a lace.

“Better when phones don’t interrupt cuddle time,” said Strike jokingly handing Robin the box he was carrying. “This is for you. I should’ve given it to you sooner but it’s rather tricky to carry while crutching.”

“Oh, what is it?” Robin smiled excitedly. “ _Vashti_... sounds fancy...”

“Is just one of the fanciest stores in London. Famous people buy in it, they only make one size of clothes,” Ilsa explained leaning to see. Robin’s jaw dropped lifting up a gorgeous, long, emerald dress. “Jesus!”

“Oh my God!” Robin squealed. “It’s beautiful! This must’ve cost a fortune, you shouldn’t have!”

“The RAF’s paying and it’s for Lucy’s wedding,” Strike explained. “You’ve been upgraded to bridesmaid and as the Best Man, I had to. Green’s the wedding colour, but aside, I showed a picture of you to the woman at the store and she said this would look tremendous on you.” Strike smiled, satisfied.

“I love it! Jesus! A bridesmaid? Me?” Robin grinned. “You kept it quiet!”

“Ilsa’s the matron of honour, whatever that is,” Ilsa rolled eyes.

“Maid of honour but married,” Ilsa explained.

“And my sisters, along with Gwen’s best female friend, will be bridesmaids. Apparently Gwen suggested you would be too,” Strike commented as Robin kept looking at the dress with wide eyes full of amazement. “So you like it?”

“I love it! Thank you,” Robin leaned to kiss him sweetly. “Not even a full day being my boyfriend and you’re already the best one ever.”

“Go try it?” Robin grinned like an excited child and ran to his bedroom with the dress.

She emerged a few minutes later wearing the dress and Strike stood up, eyes wide and jaw half-dropped. The dress clung perfectly to her curves and she wore it shyly with a little smile, blushing. Ilsa looked astonished as well.

“It’s precisely my size, don’t you think? What a good eye...” Robin turned around for show, showing off.

“Lucy’s going to be a very happy bride indeed,” Ilsa looked utterly satisfied.

“I uh...” Strike raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Yeah.” Robin laughed.

“Is that a compliment?” Robin asked.

“The dress didn’t look this good at the store,” said Strike, his lips breaking into a chuckle that drew lines on his skin on the sides of his eyes. Robin couldn’t have been more satisfied with that surprise she had been promised days before.

Dinner was wonderful. The group met and were excited about all the bridesmaids having their dresses, the delicious lobster, and of course Strike’s leg and his and Robin’s just-begun relationship. Robin got up at one point to get another bottle of wine from the kitchen and Strike followed with very specific ideas in mind, wrapping his arms around her hips from behind and kissing her shoulder as she rummaged in the cupboards.

“I’m trying to get wine,” Robin chuckled caressing his face with one hand as she turned around. “You’re making concentrating very hard.”

“Would you like to sleep here tonight?” Strike proposed on impulse. Robin’s eyebrows raised and Strike blushed. “I mean... we could share my bed. Not sex or anything just... I slept very well this morning in your company.” Robin smiled. He wasn’t pressuring her or anything, he just enjoyed her company.

“Of course, you’ll lend me some pjs?” Strike nodded, going for a kiss.

So when everybody left and ignoring Ilsa and Nick’s knowing looks, they went to Strike’s bedroom. Robin changed in the bathroom into a big blue t-shirt of Strike and short trousers and appeared in the bedroom, Strike having already gotten into bed.

“Woah... do you just look stunning no matter what?” Strike asked making her laugh as she got into bed. “Sorry, which side do you prefer? I can move...”

“I don’t care,” Robin was moved by his consideration and care for her and quickly brought him into a passionate kiss, making him shut up.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Strike asked attentive between kisses, and Robin nodded kissing him again.

“Cuddle me?” Strike grinned, nodding, and they moved so he was spooning her, making sure to keep his crotch separated from her ass so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable, and putting an arm around her hips,

“Good?”

“Perfect. Goodnight babe...” Strike chuckled at the nickname.

“Goodnight Robsie,” Robin laughed at his use of Lucy’s nickname for Robin, and closed her eyes.

“Don’t!” Strike’s eyes opened up, hearing Robin hiss. It was the middle of the night and he quickly turned to see what was the commotion with Robin, but stunned, saw she was only asleep. However, she did it again. “No!” Robin hissed again.

Strike turned the lamp light on and saw Robin was scowling, obviously having a nightmare. Thinking that she might’ve been dreaming about her rapist just because he was there made Strike angry at the damn rapist that had gotten to cloud her nights even when she tried to sleep in her boyfriend’s embrace. Strike had read somewhere that it wasn’t a good idea to wake up someone who was having a nightmare, but he couldn’t bear to let her relive such trauma for what could be the thousandth time.

“Robin, babe,” Strike shook her gently. “Wake up...” he had to insist several times until Robin’s eyes finally popped open and she sat up breathing heavily in distress. “Robs...” he looked gently at her. Her eyes were fixed on the darkness, glassy, her hands in her lap. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Robin whispered. Strike noticed she was trembling, but didn’t think she would appreciate a man touching her in the moment.

“Then I’ll just be here, okay? I’m here for you,” Strike put his pillow on position to support his back and he sat there looking at her, in silence. Robin took several deep breaths and got up, walking out of the bedroom. Strike didn’t move. After about a quarter of hour, he was still there, and Robin entered the room with a glass of water half empty, putting it on the night stand and sitting on the verge of the bed with her forehead against her hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Strike sighed. “Did this happen because I was here? Would it be better if I went to the sofa?” Robin turned to look at him and found a sincere, worried look in his eyes. Once again, he put her first.

“No...” Robin shook her head, leaning against him. “No, it’s fine.” She hugged him and leaned against his chest.

“It’s not,” Strike put his arms around her. “I want to help you, Robin...”

“You are helping,” argued Robin gently. “Let’s just try to sleep, okay?”

However, Robin couldn’t sleep. Strike hugged her as she closed her eyes against his chest, both lying back down on the bed, but as the sun rose and his snores filled the room, she couldn’t bring herself to sleep, the memory of her rapist’s hands on her still so present she could almost feel them.

 


	19. Crime

Unable to catch sleep, by six Robin was ready to get out of bed, and after moving to press her lips against Strike’s cheek briefly, she carefully disentangled herself from him and walked outside the small white room and after a quick visit to the bathroom, walked into the kitchen, serving herself a cup of already made orange juice and sitting on a stool as she drank it, leaning over the kitchen bar. She could hear steps in the floor above and figured Ilsa and Nick were starting to get ready for the day. She knew Ilsa usually woke very early and Nick wasn’t so far behind, and wondered if she looked presentable enough. She had brushed her hair with her fingers and washed her face, but her eyes still looked a big glassy and swollen from the lack of sleep. Her face was always very sensitive.

When it was clear Ilsa and Nick were moving upstairs and she heard the shower running, Robin decided to start making breakfast and prepared coffee and tea. It was all done when Ilsa emerged in her red plaid pyjamas and dark blue housecoat, her hair up in a messy bum and her glasses in place.

“Good morning,” Ilsa greeted her with a smile. “Oh, you didn’t have to do all of this, but thank you. I thought Corm and you would rise late...” she raised a knowing brow.

“Too used to getting up early I’m afraid,” Robin smiled a little and Ilsa served herself a cup of coffee. As Ilsa turned around to face her, she really saw her and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” asked Ilsa full of concern.

“Nightmares,” Robin shrugged. “Don’t worry, nothing important.” Ilsa nodded slowly, sitting next to her on another stool. “How about you, got it going last night?” added Robin to change topics, smirking a little. Ilsa snorted a laugh.

“No, too tired and too full of lobster.”

“Morning girls,” Nick came in with a smile, already dressed and showered. “Bad night Robin?”

“Just a nightmare, what are you doing all ready so early?” Robin looked curious as he served himself some tea.

“It’s Friyay!” Nick chuckled and Ilsa giggled. “Wanted to start the weekend off right. Did you know Prince William just finished his first year in St. Andrews? It just occurred to me while I showered, you could’ve been classmates with the future King of England! Who knows, you might have become the future consort of the King,” Nick joked. Robin chuckled and shook her head.

“No thanks, I’d rather not have to ask permission for about everything I do,” Robin chuckled.

“The Royal Family’s losses are my gains,” Strike joked as he entered the room, already dressed, and kissed Robin’s lips. “Morning. Did you manage some sleep after...?” he asked cautious.

“No, but it’s fine. Slept good?” Strike nodded.

“Anyone wants pancakes?” Nick proposed.

As they ate the breakfast Nick had cooked, Strike kept his eyes attentive of Robin, showing affection frequently. He was still in disbelief that she had accepted to date him, but the good news were clouded by his worry about her.

“Why don’t you get a nap for a bit?” suggested Strike putting an arm around Robin.

“I’ve got to go to work Corm,” she smiled at him a little bit. “I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry.” Strike didn’t look like he was gulping it, but he nodded.

“Was it such a bad nightmare really?” Ilsa asked friendly.

“It was about...” Robin sighed. “The guy who attacked me. A memory more than a dream.” Nick, who with Robin’s permission had been updated by Ilsa, looked worriedly at Robin, but the younger girl brushed it off with a gesture. “I’m okay. It happens, sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Strike frowned. “You mean this is an habitual thing? For two years?” Robin chastised herself internally.

“Well not every day, just... sometimes, Corm. It’s nothing really.”

“Robin, we’re talking about your mental health, of course it’s something.”

“Can you just chill?” Robin gave him pleading eyes and Strike sighed. “I’m a psychologist and counsellor. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? Because they always say doctors are the worst patients, maybe it applies to you too. Maybe you’d be better off if you seek help outside yourself,” said Strike, having finished his breakfast and putting his full attention on her.

“I am conscious of the importance of mental health, I am the one who had to convince you to go for it and I can take care of myself. I apply the things my studies taught me first to myself, you know?” Robin disliked having people get too much into territories she’s rather manage herself alone, such as this one.

“Well if you need anything, you know we’re here,” said Ilsa, pacifist. “Just don’t let this become a habit, Robin... he doesn’t deserve having so much power over you.”

“Yeah...” Robin nodded. “I know...”

“Robin, I wish I had been able to fix my physical touch problem ten years ago, don’t you want to fix this too now when it’s still early? You can’t possibly prefer spending ten years unable to sleep,” Strike tried again. “Think that as soon as you stop having nightmares you can leave it all in the past.”

“I am leaving it all in the past, Cormoran,” Robin protested, frowning at him, “and not talking about it any further is part of it. I was already the laughingstock of Scotland, the tourist whore who tried to ruin the reputation and life or a poor little native boy! Don’t you realize? I went through weeks and months of judicial procedures and embarrassment only to hear in front of an entire courtroom that I made it all up, that I was just some young tourist all drunk looking for wild sex and some money out of suing that guy! And the local tabloids there weren’t precisely gentle with me either, I am never going to be left in ridicule and shame like that again. I will not be interrogated again, put in doubt, have my entire behaviour of that night questioned and be made the bad guy of the story.” Robin looked indignant and her eyes were glassy with rage.

“Robin,” Strike breathed out, reaching to hold her hand. “Honey, I’m not saying you have to go through that again, of course not... I’m just saying, why don’t you come with me to see my psychotherapist one day uh? And if while I’m talking about my stuff you feel like you want to vent or something, you can. I’m just suggesting you let someone help you sleep at night, I would never want for you to go through that shit again, it’s what I’m trying to avoid...”

Robin stood up and shook her head, pinching the top of her nose’s bridge as she walked around. Strike exchanged questioning looks with Ilsa and Nick, looking for help.

“I don’t want to talk about this ever again,” whispered Robin, turning around to look at Strike. “I understand your intentions are good Corm, but you must trust that I’m already doing all I can to help myself and stop insisting. I never want to talk about this story again. Now, excuse me but I need to get ready and go to work.”

Robin disappeared inside Strike’s bedroom and he sighed rubbing his face tiredly.

“Just give her time,” Ilsa murmured squeezing his shoulder gently. “She’s got trust issues, an entire judicial system stabbed her in the back, you can’t ask her to trust in any psychologist but herself right now.” Strike nodded.

“If I ever see that pig...” Strike shook his head.

“Oggy, please,” Nick looked scandalised. “Don’t insult the poor pigs...”

Once Robin was all ready she emerged looking like a whole new person, just a minute behind Ilsa, who was finishing making sure her purse had everything she needed. The younger woman smiled at them gently as if nothing had happened.

“Time to head back to the practice, thanks for breakfast and everything.”

“You’re welcomed to stay whenever you want,” Ilsa hugged her. “Need a ride? I’m just popping out...”

“No, I’ve got the car outside. See you later babe?” Robin looked at Strike with pleading eyes and he nodded, reaching to kiss her.

“Dinner?” Strike proposed. “I can pass by your place with Thai?”

“Sounds lovely,” Robin kissed him again and waved to Nick. “Bye!”

“Have a good day!” Strike shouted as she opened the front door.

“You too!” Robin closed the door after her, and was gone. Strike looked at Ilsa suddenly as an idea popped into his mind.

“You’re a lawyer aren’t you?” he said. Ilsa looked incredulous.

“Very sharp of you to notice after five years,” said Ilsa jokingly. Nick laughed.

“Ilsa...” Strike gave him the ‘puppy look’, that one in which Nick and him were experts, used to get her to do anything they wanted. “Perhaps you could get the court to recognise they fucked up with Robin and that dude is guilty? He’s walking free around, he could hurt her again...” Ilsa gave him a sad look and shook her head.

“You don’t know how much I’d want to set that asshole in place, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, aside from being her lawyer if she ever needed one,” Ilsa sighed. “It’s a case closed, Cormoran. Only new evidence against him could reopen it.” Strike smiled.

“Then I think I know what to do.”

 


	20. Wedded

Avoiding any mentions to Robin’s past and her aborted unborn baby, Strike and Robin’s relationship sailed smoothly, becoming better and closer every single day. Sex was out of the picture and none of them brought it up, both understanding that the other wasn’t probably ready and not feeling ready themselves. So it became full romance, letters, emails, texts, calling each other and falling asleep at night on the phone like teenagers, going for lunch, dinner or even breakfast, not feeling guilty when it was impossible to keep their relationship professional during Strike’s sessions.

Before Lucy and Gwen’s wedding, Robin presented Strike a beautiful present; an elegant, dark cane with adjustable height and a silver handle that Strike instantly fell in love with and found much more comfortable than his crutches. With it, he practised with his prosthesis until he knew he would be more than capable of walking Lucy to her new life.

The wedding was also the very first event the duo would attend as an official couple and Robin felt fluttering in her stomach just by thinking about it. Since Robin, Ilsa, Gaby and Danielle were supposed to be helping Lucy get ready, they got to their flat early morning and Gwen got ready at her parents’ house, since the wedding would be celebrated at Pembroke Lodge as a Civil Partnership aka pretend wedding. Nick and Strike would be there later, after making sure everything was being taken care of at Pembroke Lodge.

When the men finally made it to Lucy and Gwen’s flat in Elephant & Castle, Nick in his fine suit and Strike in his RAF uniform (a dark blue jacket with his few decorations on the chest, the tie dark green instead of the usual black to go with the wedding theme, a flower on the lapel, an elegant belt over the jacket and matching dark blue pants, and his RAF cap) the girls were all ready and picking last minute things.

“Okay girls, all set! Ted and Joan are at the Pembroke with Gwen’s parents controlling ev...” Strike’s eyes fell on Robin and his jaw dropped. Robin grinned at him, her hair forming beautiful shiny strawberry blonde waves down her shoulders and her lips in just the right tone of red, her eyes bright. “Robin, you... woah...” Robin giggled and walked to him.

“Reserve that for the bride,” Robin gave him a peck on the lips, trying not to get too intense and ruin her lipstick. “You look incredibly sexy and handsome...” she added admiring his suit, a hand brushing over the medals on his chest. “Woah...”

“Next to you I’m not more splendid than a bush,” Strike smiled grinning at her. Ilsa cleared her throat and Strike looked at her.

“Now’s when you say we all look splendid,” Ilsa joked winking at him.

“Oh yeah, sure you all look nice girls,” Strike chuckled. “Where’s the bride?”

“Here!” Lucy beamed exiting her bedroom. Her hair was brighter and prettier than ever, and her dress was long and white and seemingly made just for her, fitting her just right, and her make-up looked as if it just strengthened her natural beauty. Strike couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows and look awestruck. “I’m all ready!”

“Jesus, Luce...” Strike managed to say. Nick whistled eyes wide.

“Channelling your inner princess much?” Nick chuckled, his arm around his own bride.

“Like it?” Lucy swirled around for effect. “Pretty uh?”

“You are pretty, the dress is just decoration,” Strike hugged her sister. “You look wonderful Luce, prettiest bride I’ve ever seen, although Ilsa kinda fights for the spot.” He added chuckling at Ilsa, who rolled eyes with a smile.

“It’s her day, shower her with compliments,” Ilsa encouraged. “Absolutely stunning, that’s how she looks.”

“Damn right sis, Gwen’s a very lucky girl,” Gaby added.

“Mum would be speechless,” Strike whispered to Lucy’s ear before giving her a kiss on the cheek and offering his arm. “Let’s go?”

“Wait! Everyone else has to go first, we’re supposed to be the last!” Lucy reminded.

“Okay but how does it work when both are brides?” Danielle asked. “Do you two just compete for which one takes longer?” the group laughed and Lucy shook her head.

“Gwen goes first, we agreed,” explained Lucy. “So go, go!”

“See you later,” Robin kissed Strike again.

“See ya!”

Fifteen minutes later, the limousine to take Lucy and Strike arrived and Strike, gentlemanlike, held the door open for his sister before entering after her. The limousine drove all the way to Richmond and then to the venue, and Strike offered Lucy his arm as he held onto his elegant cane with his free hand. Hand-in-arm, they walked through the garden guided by the workers and to the door of the ceremony room. Lucy and he exchanged nervous glances.

“You’re doing great,” Strike kissed her hand.

“What if I make a mistake? Say the wrong words or something?” Lucy asked nervously.

“I’m here with you, everything’s going to go right,” Strike smiled at her, confident, and she felt better instantly. “And when in doubt, just smile and tell her how much you love her.” Lucy smiled and nodded.

“Oh, you look beautiful,” Ted came in his suit with the children who were part of the wedding party, children of friends of the couple. He kissed his niece’s cheek. “Gwen just came in. You’re going to flip.” Lucy grinned.

“Whenever you’re ready, sis,” Strike whispered as Ted came inside and the venue’s workers opened the doors wide for them. The music started sounding and Lucy smiled at Strike once more.

“It means the world you’re doing this for me,” whispered Lucy.

“I’d do anything if you’re the one asking, silly,” replied Strike, shifting his weight to make sure his prosthesis didn’t take the worst part, and they stepped inside.

The ceremony passed in a blur. Personalised vows were exchanged, tears were shed, and Strike and Robin held hands the entire ceremony. Joan and Ted didn’t have to ask to know they were together now, as the couple exchanged loving glances and brief sneaky kisses. Then afterwards, Strike stayed behind to help with the wedding paperwork while things evolved into the reception lunch, and then he and Robin sat together in the main table, that contained Gwen and her family and Strike and his family, even Ilsa and Nick, since they were practically family.

“Did you prepare a nice best man’s speech?” Robin whispered to Strike with a smirk as they sat.

“Uh, it’s something,” Strike chuckled.

They were in a huge room with glass ceiling through which the sun came and round tables one near the other, and theirs was pretty much in the geographical centre of the room. There were green and silver decorations everywhere and tons of flowers with white and beige colours, and the brides both looked stunning and exchanged kisses every now and then, holding hands over the table and being happily in their little bubble. Gwen’s family was also nice, warm and welcoming, cracking jokes and sharing funny stories. When the time came, Strike had to get up for the classical Best Man’s speech, and Robin observed he had no notes to read from, just a hand on his cane for support and his cap sitting on his chair. The room instantly quieted down.

“Good morning,” saluted Strike, his usual serious and sullen expression transforming into one gentler, warmer. “I’m Cormoran, Lucy’s older brother and well, the Best Man, so bear with me for a moment...” there were some giggles in the room. Robin smiled warmly at him, and realised Lucy was about ready to cry and he hadn’t really said anything yet. “Firstly, I want to thank you all for having coming here, and especially because I know this isn’t a normal wedding. It isn’t even a wedding to begin with, actually is a civil partnership. When my sister told me, I didn’t understand. I said, ‘why not just marry?’ and I didn’t know it’s illegal here. So it means twice as much seeing so many people here, not giving a fuck about whatever the politicians or the Church say and doing the most alike a wedding civil partnership event we could manage to create. Lucy, I know you wish certain people were here but... the ones who love us, never truly leave us okay? So it’s okay... she’s closer than you think. And Gwen, I want to welcome you into an already big family,” he smiled at Gwen, “and I want to thank you for being such a good person to my sister. I know she can be a pain in the arse,” more giggles, “but she’s my sister, and she’s got a heart of gold, and I know you’re never going to regret this day, and the second your marriage is as legal as my shitty marriage to my awful ex-wife was last year, I’ll personally drive you down to the council hall and have things done as you deserve. But I speak as a soldier when I say the country I’ve always fought for makes a huge mistake not giving this the name it deserves, and I swear that whatever they say, to me, you two are bride and bride and your love is not less love, no matter what they say.” Gwen and Lucy were both getting incredibly emotional, but looked happy nevertheless. “So uh... I did look for books on how to make Best Man speeches, but found none, if you have noticed...” there was a general laughter and Robin washed a tear off her cheek with a smile on her face. “I guess it all resumes to...” he shrugged. “Look, we all know love is a very complicated thing, and it takes a big pair of...” he gestured and there were more laughs. “To come up and say in front of everyone how you feel. To be vulnerable, to dare to love. But someone very dear to me told me once life is not worth it without affection, without kindness, without love... and I believe it,” he looked at Robin briefly and she nodded. “I’ve seen war and I’ve seen death and I know the only things that have made this world a little better have come out of pure love. The way you two always have your doors open for your friends and your family, the way you teach children to be great adults one day, the way you look at each other... you make the world a little bit better every single time... and I thank you for that. Seeing you get to know each other, and grow closer, and love each other, is one of the best things I’ve ever gotten to see. So cheers to you, and have it clear that I’ll always be there for you as both of your brother. To Gwen and Lucy!” he raised his cup and grinned at the couple.

Everyone toasted for them and Strike hugged both brides before sitting back down.

“That was beautiful,” Robin chuckled into Strike’s cheek.

“Oh, come on,” Strike put an arm around her shoulders and smiled foolishly at her. “You wrote half of it, practically.” Robin laughed and kissed him.

During the party afterwards, Strike formally introduced Robin to his aunt and uncle as his girlfriend, and Robin was formally welcomed into the family.

“You know what they say,” Joan winked at her. “One wedding leads to another...” Robin blushed heavily and giggled, not knowing what to say. It didn’t help that she had, in fact, caught one of the two bouquets of flowers thrown, the other being caught by one of Gwen’s best friends.

To Robin’s surprise, when it came the moment for the first dance of the brides, Strike sat on the piano. She knew Strike’s mother was a big fan of music and his family was very connected to it, but to her knowledge he didn’t play any instruments.

“Ladies and gentleman...” Strike said onto the microphone adjusted over the piano. “Let’s welcome Gwen and Lucy for their first dance as wives! Can you feel the love tonight?”

“You didn’t tell me he played the freaking piano!” Robin whispered to Ilsa, who grinned.

“He’s like fine wine, getting better, isn’t it?” Ilsa whispered back, and Robin blushed. Then, she almost cried, smiling big, as she saw Strike start to play and sing Elton John’s ‘Can you feel the love tonight?’ “He taught himself, when toddlers,” Ilsa whispered to Robin. “No one really knows how...”

Robin looked impressed at Strike as his fingers danced smoothly over the keys with innate precision and his soft, deep, masculine voice filled the room. The brides danced wonderfully and the room erupted into applause as it came to an end. When Strike met again with Robin, she couldn’t help but kissing him passionately.

“I take you liked it?” Strike chuckled humorously against her lips as they pulled apart.

“You’re a box full of great surprises, Mr. Strike,” said Robin kissing him again.

“I’m afraid I can’t really dance now,” said Strike after a while as everyone moved to start dancing, looking apologetic. “I used to be great at waltz, is a shame...”

“What if we dance in our own way?” Robin proposed. Strike raised an eyebrow and Robin answered by throwing her arms around his neck and closing her eyes against his shoulder as he put his arms around her. They swirled around at their own pace, didn’t matter the music that was sounding or the rhythm of it. “Now we’re dancing.” She whispered against his body. Strike smiled, wrapping his arms firmly around her and looking down at her as they swirled ever so slowly so he wouldn’t hurt his stump.

“Now we’re dancing,” he agreed, and kissed her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in a while any of my stories, but truth is the lack of reviews makes me think no one cares if I update this or not so I figure why lose my time grabbing the laptop and updating when I could be doing other stuff? I truly do enjoy writing and for me, I get the same joy even if I don't publish. The entire fic is written, I already had joy with it, publishing is only to share it if people like it.
> 
> Finally I've decided to put up this chapter, but I've decided I won't publish any other of this story unless I get 5 reviews, and that way I can filter and don't lose time updating stories that don't interest much in favour of updating more often those that do get petitions for more chapters. After all, a writer doesn't publish another book of a saga if the one before is not bought. This will go on until this story ends, if you get to see the end. This is not out of anger or anything, not really, but I think us fanfic writers need to have some pride, you know? I think we work very hard to create aditional content, and if no one cares we're equally happy writing it for ourselves and don't losing time putting it up online only so someone can steal the work (which happens very often) but we get 0 credit.


	21. No touching

Strike and Robin reached Robin’s flat late at night, both a little drunk, Strike slightly limping, and they came inside, removing coats and shoes with relief before moving into Robin’s bedroom. There, Robin turned the light on, revealing a small double bed with dark blue-and-gray sheets, everything neat and organised in the small space. She smiled nervously at him.

“I’m afraid I can’t lend you anything your size,” said Robin apologetic. Strike’s lip curved into a side smile and he shrugged, sitting on the feet of the bed.

“It’s okay, if you don’t mind me sleeping in boxers... although I do have an undershirt, so I can keep that on, even my pants if you want, no problem,” Strike smiled confident and removed his tie. Robin bit her lip thinking and shrugged.

“Boxers is fine, it’s a very warm night,” Robin flopped on the bed next to Strike and moved to kiss his cheek. “You’ve been such a gentleman all day, so handsome and perfect.”

“Nothing you don’t deserve,” Strike moved to peck her lips briefly. He then looked nervous. “I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” Robin nodded. Were they going to have sex? Robin hadn’t shaved down there and she wasn’t sure she was ready for him to even see her naked. Strike took a deep breath and carefully removed his pants. Robin’s eyes widened. He was going to show her his dick, wasn’t it? She felt her palms sweating cold. She avoided looking at his boxers and to her surprise, Strike pointed at his prosthesis with a hand.

“There it is,” Strike breathed out. “I know is not very attractive, and you’ve probably felt it when we slept, but I had to show you. I don’t want to hide myself from you, even the ugly parts. So...” he braced himself and removed his prosthesis, carefully, removing also a protective sock until all that was left was half a calf.

Robin’s stomach flipped, not because it was disgusting, which it wasn’t, but because the reality of the roughness of what had occurred to him appeared into her view. There was no rest of calf. No ankle. No foot. Just... nothing. Blown-up. His legs were all muscle and hair, but strangely the hair stopped growing a couple fingers above the end of his stump, as if the injury had affected the scarring skin so much it couldn’t grow it anymore, as Robin supposed was the case.

“You wanted to show me... your stump?” Robin looked at him, feeling herself getting emotional for the hundredth time that day. Strike looked at her shyly and nodded.

“I didn’t think it was right to hide it away from my girlfriend. Not when you’re not just some girlfriend...” said Strike, making Robin smile.

“Thank you,” she leaned and kissed him softly. Then she cupped his face and locked eyes with him. “And hey, nothing about you is ugly. It’s just a wound. It’s not ideal but... it’s not ugly.” Strike grinned like a fool.

“You really think so?”

“Obviously,” Robin hugged him as they sat. “And I’m very glad it’s just your stump, you scared me for a moment in there.” She added with a laugh. Strike’s eyes widened.

“Oh my... sorry, I didn’t realise!” he looked apologetic and she just laughed and shook her head.

“It’s fine,” said Robin, getting up. “I’m going to change, you just get comfortable.”

When Robin came back, Strike was already snuggled in bed and Robin blushed seeing his shirtless body. She had seen bits of it –in the hospital, or in the beach- but this was completely different. This was her manly boyfriend lying naked in her bed, with his short beard and his warm, dark eyes. He had a wide torso covered in dark, thick, manes of hair, his small nipples poking outside between the hair as if looking for hair, and his abs were less prominent than they had probably been when he was on active duty, but still present. Robin had felt them many times, when putting her hand over his belly, feeling the toughness of them, as she had felt the strong, hairy arms that were now fully on display, his watch on top of the nightstand. Robin smiled and snuck under the sheets next to him, lying with her face against his chest, humming as the soft hair stroke her cheek and her fingers caressed his warm belly. Strike put his arm around her and kissed her head before turning the lamp off, since it was the only light left on.

“You know, Robs...” Strike said softly. “I would never force you into sex. I’m happy the way we are.” Robin smiled against his chest and rose up enough to caress his face and kiss him again.

“I’m not saying we’ll never... I’m just not ready yet...”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Strike kissed her. “I’m in no rush, okay? I know is not easy for you, I don’t want you to feel pressured at all. Besides, it’s not like my life can’t go on without sex,” he joked, making her giggle. “But when you want to do it, I want you to know that I will make sure is special and nice, all romantic, okay? Flowers and everything, and you’ll be a queen for a day. Does that sound fun?” Robin grinned.

“Thank you,” Robin caressed his cheek. “You make me feel the luckiest person in the world.”

“Not luckier than I am with you,” replied Strike, bringing her back to his chest and his arms, and kissing the top of her head. “The world is much prettier and warmer with you, Robin.” He murmured in the darkness. Robin closed her eyes and sighed happily.

“The world has never been this happy, Corm.”

This time, Robin slept quietly through the entire night. The episode of her nightmares hadn’t repeated in all the times they had slept together since they got together, and in the morning, Strike found her practically buried in his chest, as if she was trying to cave a hole in it, all cute with her mane of hair dishevelled like a lioness.

“Good morning, cub,” Strike smiled as he pressed kisses against her face and hair, always happy to wake up next to her.

“Mmm,” Robin smiled without being capable of helping herself. “What did you just call me?”

“Cub,” Strike chuckled, moving to find her face and kiss her on the lips. Robin’s hands immediately flew to his hair, bringing him closer for a more intense kiss, their chests pressing together as Strike rolled on top of Robin, careful not to squash her, and she giggled as he bit her neck lightly, then kissing the bite.

“Am I yummy?” Robin asked playful.

“The yummiest!” Strike smiled, kissing her again.

**. . .**

That evening, Ilsa had offered to pick Strike up and the physiotherapist, since Robin had gotten in a train to Masham to be with her family a few days, something about her uncle having twisted his ankle and needing an extra pair of hands for a while, so after some morning shagging, she had gotten inside her Land Rover and off she had gone. As Strike exited his physiotherapist’s consult he was already texting with her.

‘ **Just leaving the hospital, Ilsa’s picking me up. How’s your uncle? xoxo** ’

‘ **Aw, great! He’s okay, he’s just unable to deal with the horses much, but here it’s the niece to take care of those cute bastards ;-) how was physio?’**

‘ **Haha, indeed! It was okay, feeling great!’**

‘ **Lovely :-) miss you already, handsome’**

‘ **Miss you too, cub. See you soon enough though, enjoy your family and those very deserved days off.’**

‘ **Yep, so far I’ve already gotten around 50 request to meet ‘the guy who has you all smiley’ and I don’t have that many family members’**

‘ **The guy who has you all smiley? WHO?’**

‘ **You, obviously! Dork’**

‘ **Only for you babe ;) so I have you all smiley?’**

‘ **Furiously!’**

‘ **You too <3’**

By the time Strike left his phone he was smiling from ear to ear and feeling things he had never felt before, was standing like a fool in the middle of the crosswalk, and Ilsa had to park in a yellow line with the lights on, and was standing with her back against the car, crossing arms and giving him a knowing smile and ‘the eyes’. Strike looked up at her and blushed furiously as he shoved the phone in his pocket after having a farewell with Robin.

“I was just...” he shrugged.

“Yeah,” Ilsa giggled, getting into her seat. Strike flopped in the seat next to her, throwing his cane to the back of the fancy car as Ilsa drove away. “So how was physiotherapy?”

“Pretty good,” Strike nodded, looking through the window waiting for his face to return to its normal colour. “Work?”

“Nice,” Ilsa nodded. “I assume with Robin...?”

“Great!” Strike nodded again. “All great, yep, just making sure she got there safe...” Ilsa smiled focusing on the road and then Strike noticed a hickey on her neck, half-covered by her jacket. “Hickeys, you’re back to the teenage years?” Ilsa grinned.

“We share the same passion we did when we met, if not more,” said Ilsa, unashamed because why would she? “I imagine you must be rocking some of these too after last night?”

“Oh, no, no,” Strike blushed again.

“Oh, she doesn’t like...?”

“Well that’s one thing but we also didn’t do... we have never... she’s only done it once and it was with that bastard, under a stairwell in the middle of the street a dark night of July so,” Strike clarified. “I’m not pushing. There’s no need to have sex now.” Ilsa looked at him briefly, more serious, before focusing back on the road.

“Jesus Christ...” Ilsa shook her head. “If I got a penny for every rape case I even hear of, I’d be living in Buckingham Palace.” Strike nodded. “She fucking doesn’t deserve that... and worse is he’s free, somewhere out there. Do you think he’ll attack her again?”

“Wouldn’t be wise of him, if something happens to her he’ll be suspect number one,” said Strike, leaning back in his seat. “But between you and I, I called my mate Hardy, from the RAF. He’s in Scotland at the moment for work and he promised to find the guy who touched Robin for me. I’m gonna stick my eyes on him like glue and the minimal thing he does that can land him in prison...”

“Be careful though. And don’t you think Robin will kill you if she finds out?”

“I will tell her once I know where he is. I think she’ll live calmer knowing he’s watched and far from her flat.”

He fixed his eyes on the road. He wasn’t going to let anyone touch her again.

 

 

 


	22. Worship

The sun blasted uncommonly warm against London’s streets the day of August that Robin was back in London. Strike, who had keys of her flat, cooked lunch and waited for her impatiently, so much that he practically yanked the door open when he heard her coming upstairs, her way of walking betraying her.

“Welcome!” Strike grinned as Robin giggled and hugged him tightly. As he buried his face in her hair, her scent calmed his senses and brought back a sense of home and calmness, her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips pressing against the side of his head.

“I missed you!” Robin separated just enough to kiss him, their tongues meeting effusively and their lips swelling as the kiss deepened and grew more passionate.

When they finally separated, they kept their arms around each other as they walked inside for lunch, suitcases left by the entry, chatting about the week and a half passed without each other and what the other had been up to.

“So his ankle is all right now?” Strike asked while Robin munched. She nodded.

“He still has to take it easy for a bit, but he’s much better,” wine was poured into both cups. “So how’s Lucy? Still in honeymoon?”

“Comes back in a couple days,” Strike nodded. “She called yesterday, basically ‘fuck Cormoran, Greece is the best country in the world, why don’t we move here’.” Robin laughed.

“I’m glad they’re having fun, they deserve it.”

They were lazily snuggling in the sofa while exchanging kisses and whispering nothings when Robin pulled out for a moment, dodging his attempt for a kiss with a smile. Strike pouted and attacked her neck instead with soft kisses, their limbs entangled with each other.

“Corm... wait, I wanted to say something...” Strike purred making her giggle and looked up at her questioningly. She held his bearded face sweetly between her hands and looked into his dark eyes. “I love you.” Strike’s eyebrows raised, his eyes opened a lot for a brief moment, and a smile appeared in his face.

“I love you too,” replied Strike. Robin grinned.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah...” Strike nodded and kissed her again. “You’re the best part of my life.” He added in a whisper against her lips. Robin answered by giving him a heated kiss. When the kiss became an intense make-out session and they were feeling too warm, Strike pushed her away softly. “We need to stop.” He looked apologetic and Robin frowned.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No, not at all! You’ve done things too well, better said. I need a moment to... calm down...” he had blushed really hard and motioned to his crotch with his head. Robin looked down and her eyes widened as she saw his pants were distinctly raised like a tent.

“Oh, sweetie...” Robin chuckled. “That’s okay... We’re going to need it like that...” she added timidly looking at him, blushing.

“What?” Strike felt slapped in a good way.

“I was thinking over these weeks... I know we haven’t been together for a month yet but uh... I love you. And I want to be loved in every possible way by you.” She had blushed furiously and Strike thought it was the cutest thing in the world.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to do this, really...” Strike made sure to sound as secure as he felt.

“I’m sure. Make love to me, Flight Lieutenant...” Robin chuckled kissing him again.

“Wait,” he pulled apart after a couple well-placed kisses. “We can’t just do it like this, no... you deserve a proper first time so...” Robin smiled at him and Strike couldn’t help but interrupt himself to peck her lips. “I’m going to take you to The Connaught.”

“The Connaught?” Robin looked lost and Strike remembered she had only been living in London for a few months.

“A super hotel,” said Strike. “I’m going to make sure everything is excellent. Just what you deserve.” Robin smiled.

“Babe, you don’t have to spend so much money...”

“I know... I want to.”

So Strike and Robin packed a bag and Strike took her to one of London’s finest hotels, a five-star all luxury hotel he knew he couldn’t afford not even with the RAF’s pay unless it was for a small stay, so they only packed for a couple nights. While Robin was being treated to a spa treatment –Jacuzzi and massage included- Strike bought a ton of bouquets of flowers and made sure to fill their luxury suite with petals of flowers here and there, bought a box of the finest chocolate and champagne, lube and condoms, and put on his finest suit. He light up a few candles in the room with a soft lavender smell and covered the king size bed with petals, and waited until Robin knocked in the door. He opened the door to see her with a white robe from the hotel, her hair damp and her expression relaxed.

“Welcome, milady...” Strike bowed kissing her hand and Robin giggled.

“What’s all of this...?” Robin’s jaw dropped entering the suite and looking around. It was a huge room with sofas and a fireplace that was turned off, the curtains closed and the light dimly from some lamps and the candles, flowers and petals all over, leading up to the bedroom. “Babe, you shouldn’t have, this is going to be so expensive!”

“I will worry about the money, you worry about relaxing and having a good time,” said Strike hugging her from behind and kissing her shoulder. Robin turned around with glassy eyes and a grin. “Whenever you want to stop, we stop, okay? Just because I’ve planned all of this doesn’t mean you have to do anything.”

“Okay,” Robin kissed him. “Thank you, Corm. This means the world...”

“Every girl should have a first time just like this,” murmured Strike, his hands on her hips as Robin turned around and their foreheads pressed together. “You don’t make love to someone simply with your dick... you put them first. You tell them how amazing and special they are and you mean it. You make sure they’re having fun and enjoying every minute of it. You make it beautiful. You make it sweet, warm, caring, and you kiss away every single scar, and you make sure she feels loved, even if it’s not in a luxurious hotel room but something humble and normal... because if she doesn’t, then it’s just sex. And you don’t have just sex with the person you love, there are prostitutes for that... and you’re nothing like a prostitute... you’re an angel who deserves to be worshiped every single day, and it would be my honour to be the one who does that the most.”

Lacking a good answer with words, Robin, with tears in her eyes, just kissed him with all she had in her.

 

 


	23. Reaper toy

Robin woke up sprawled over Strike’s chest, feeling so relaxed her nude limbs felt too heavy to move a millimetre. She knew it was time for them to leave their room, after having been making love for their entire hotel stay, and go for the welcome back dinner organised for Lucy and Gwen at the Herbert’s house, but Strike’s torso hair was tickling her nipples and his arms were surrounding her in a way that felt like home, his snoring filling the room and soothing her dangerously back to sleep. A bottle of champagne stood empty on the night-stand, next to an empty plate of what had been French crêpes with chocolate and strawberries, and the bed sheets were all over the place, barely covering them, which none of them seemed to mind.

Suddenly the snoring stopped and Strike groaned, opening his eyes in the dimly room and wrapping his arms tighter around her, burying his nose in her hair and closing his eyes again.

“I take we pass from dinner?” Robin murmured sleepily against his chest hair, her eyes closed. Strike opened his mouth to answer but his phone sounded and he groaned instead.

“If we don’t make a noise it’ll stop...” Strike whispered snuggling closer to Robin, who laughed. The phone did, in fact, stop ringing after a while, but then it was turn for Robin’s.

“I’m afraid if we keep ignoring it, she’ll keep calling,” Robin felt more awake and moved to leave the bed, laughing as Strike tried to keep her in it. She stood completely nude and found her trousers inside the closet, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Hi Ils...” she giggled as Strike put an arm around her hips, reaching her from the bed, and brought her to him, biting her ass cheek lightly. “Uh, sorry, Corm stop... yeah Ilsa, you were saying?” Strike grinned sitting up to kiss her back. “Yeah... we’ll be there in... uh... an hour? I’m sorry, we’re pretty nakey at the moment if you know what I mean... no, no, it’s totally fine, no worries. Yeah, see you, bye!” she blushed turning around and kissing Strike intensely. “We are going. We paid three nights, not four.” Strike groaned as Robin giggled and went into the bathroom.

“I hate when you’re right...” Strike yawned and sat up. “A quickie in the shower?” the bathroom door opened and he smirked hopping to it.

“But quickie uh?” Strike laughed and shook his head.

Almost two hours later they appeared at Ilsa and Nick’s house, both looking apologetic, far too happy and pretty nice, and joined the two matrimonies and Strike’s twin sisters for dinner. Apparently Robbie was outside the city visiting family and Al was staying at a friend’s house for their birthday celebrations. Lucy and Gwen beamed as they showed their pictures and talked about the wonders of Greece and Croatia, the countries they had visited during their honeymoon. In just over a week, the summer holidays would be officially over and Lucy and Gwen would be back to classes and Al would start Cambridge.

Gwen was just telling them about Croatia’s waterfalls when Strike excused himself to attend a phone-call he was receiving and went back inside, since they were having dinner at the patio to enjoy the fresh of a summer night. When he returned to the table, his dreamy mood of ‘I just spent four days having sex’ had disappeared.

“What’s wrong?” Robin asked detecting it as sharp as a falcon after Gwen had finished.

“That was Air Chief Marshal Sir John Day,” said Strike with a sight. “It was a matter of time, it’s been five months on medical leave, they’re making questions. Wanting to know what am I planning on doing now that they know I’m on prosthesis because the docs have to keep them up to date.”

“So?” Lucy frowned. “They can’t force you to work if you don’t feel ready.”

“They aren’t forcing me into anything, they made an offer. I can either accept a job on the ground or present my resignation. There’s no reason why I wouldn’t be capable of working on the ground and they’ve paid five months of medical leave.”

“Then why that face? Work on the ground, nice salary and you won’t have to complain about how bored you are one day more,” Robin smiled softly at him.

“Well, remember how I mentioned maybe quitting the RAF? I’m still unsure after all these months and I don’t like being forced into deciding things...”

“You’ve already decided, Corm. You’re not going to quit now,” said Robin gently. Strike looked surprised. “You’ve spent five months saying ‘maybe’. If you wanted to quit so much, this was your perfect chance and you still weren’t sure, which means it’s not really what you want right now. You’ve only been there for four years, is not much and you want more.”

“Yeah...” Strike admitted with a sigh. “I miss flying damn much.”

“But your leg is still not quite ready for that yet, so the best thing you can do in the meantime is get a job on the ground, stay close to the action. People is dying out there and if that’s the best you can do to help, I’m sure is what you’ll be happy doing,” Robin explained, disentangling the mess in his head so easily. She understood him better than he did at times.

“I’ll miss you though...” Strike pouted and Robin laughed.

“Oh, don’t do that, I have to work too, mister. I’m taking my forensic psychology exams in two weeks, we’ll see each other when possible. Weekends, mostly,” Strike groaned. “I will miss you too, grumpy cat...” she gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Cat?” Strike asked then, frowning. “Not dragon or lion, cat?”

“You’re so neat your room barely looks different than a hotel room,” Robin enumerated with her fingers. “I’ve seen you fix your hair with your own saliva,” they laughed. “And you like affection on your own way when you want, you eat like there is no tomorrow and are capable of making people bleed just with your eyes. Cat.” Even Strike laughed this time, shaking his head.

“You win, birdie,” Strike kissed her cheek and she rolled her eyes and smiled.

“So you’ve finally sexed up, right?” Nick asked with a smirk. Ilsa elbowed him as Strike and Robin blushed. “What?” he murmured to Ilsa, who rolled eyes.

“We did,” Robin blushed hard, drinking her wine nonchalantly.

“Aw, that’s so good!” Lucy smiled at her. “I mean, because it means you’re getting over things, right? You deserve to know what good sex is like.”

“Well, unless you hated it, but seeing how you guys were late I’d say you didn’t...” Gwen winked with a giggle.

“That’s right, where were you? Haven’t heard a word from you in like... four days...” Ilsa asked. Robin had gotten so red her resemblance to a tomato was rather scandalous, and Strike’s ears felt warm too.

“I took Robin to The Connaught, spent... yeah, four days there, just getting romantic.”

“The Connaught-y, then!” Gabrielle joked, making them laugh. “We know what you were doing, you dirty birds...”

“Wait but that hotel isn’t like, super luxurious?” Danielle intervened. “Yeah, a friend of mine went there with her partner for Christmas! Five stars, it has spa and everything right?”

“You guys went to a five-star hotel just for sex? That’s category...” Gabrielle looked impressed.

“Hey, not ‘just’ for sex, I brought her to The Connaught because little things say I love you like spa, champagne, room-service, pizza for breakfast, and sweet love-making in the most comfortable bed in the world, probably,” said Strike indignant. “Come on, that’s how all first times should be and I had the task of making Robin like intimacy after all that shit.”

“I think it’s super romantic, well-done,” Ilsa patted Strike’s back with a chuckle.

“Me too, if it’s for that you can come late. Not to my birthday party next week though, but you know...” Lucy smiled. “Glad you had fun, Robs.” Robin felt like Earth would do well in gulping her right then.

“Yeah, thanks...” everyone laughed seeing how mortified she was, poor thing, and Strike, used to his sisters’ interrogation techniques and lack of shame, kissed Robin’s cheek, making her forget about things for a moment. “So uh... did you think what kind of ground job you’ll be getting?”

“Quick to change topics,” Nick laughed snorting into his beer.

“Hah, but that’s a good question bro,” Gabrielle chuckled at Strike, who looked thoughtful.

“Well there are a few that interest me,” said Strike ignoring Nick and Gabrielle. “There’s flight operations assistant, working in a tower of control and assisting the planes; an intelligence analyst, collecting and interpreting information vital for the troops and disseminating that information to the right people; and I could pilot the Reaper, a remotely piloted aircraft system for surveillance, intelligence, reconnaissance, and ground-attack. The last one is probably the most attractive one for me, or intelligence analyst maybe. I did study criminology in Oxford so I guess I could work in the RAF police forces, but it wouldn’t be a good idea with my leg as it is, so the others are safer. All jobs I can do sitting.”

“Seems very interesting,” Robin smiled.

“He likes the Reaper toy. Is like a child,” Danielle snorted a laugh.

“It’s not a toy, is a super-advanced technology, very sophisticated and who wouldn’t want to get their hands on it? Besides, is the closest I can do to piloting...”

“Whatever you choose it’s fine babe,” Robin chuckled and kissed him briefly. “You’ve got my support.”

“How are you going to decide?” Nick asked. He knew the pain of having to choose in a field full of thinks you like, since it had happened to him with medicine.

“I don’t know mate,” Strike shrugged. “The Reaper pilot is the best paid of them, it’s around 2500 pounds monthly, which would be great... and I think for the others I need a minimum of years working there, which can’t be because I’m dropping it as soon as my leg is ready, so I imagine it’s going to be Reaper pilot. I am a pilot already, it would be easy to get into it, just have to learn to manage the equipment. I’d have to move to Lincolnshire though, it’s from where the Reaper is operated, I’d live at the Royal Air Force Station of Waddington outside Lincoln city. Or drive three hours there every day.” He added looking at Robin with certain sadness.

“You’re not going to drive six hours daily Corm, you need to be awake to pilot that thing...” Robin sighed. “I guess you’ll have to move then babe, I’m sure you can find doctors there and everything for your leg and it’s a station, they’re probably super equipped for everything you might need.”

“That’s for sure, they’ll give me a house in there, and they have medical care, gym, everything... the station is one of the RAF’s busiest,” Strike nodded. “But I’ll miss you, working eight to twelve hours a day and all...” Robin smiled sadly at him.

“We’ll see each other on the weekends, okay? Besides, I’m freelance, I can close the office on Mondays or Fridays and go up to be with you for long weekends,” Robin assured. “Right now what’s more important is that you get your life back on track. And you were a soldier long before my boyfriend.”

“You’re too good,” Strike smiled kissing her softly.

“Well it’s better than when you go back in the sky and I don’t see you for months right?” Robin shrugged. “This is a luxury compared.” Strike nodded with a little smile. “So Nick, did I hear right or this is your last year to finish GP training and your education?”

The conversation diverted to Nick and Strike looked at Robin intensely. He hadn’t realised that he’d be gone for months or even years on deployments, unable to be with her, to hug her, to protect her, to care for her. His stomach flipped just by thinking about it and suddenly he wasn’t sure he would be able to go back into the military life. He wanted to be with Robin.

 


	24. The end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a second part to this story awaiting to be published ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning is porn!

“Oh, God...” Robin threw her head back against her pillows, her eyes shut close and her cheeks red, her back arching and her erect nipples elevating towards the ceiling while Strike lied next to her, face down, one of his hands attending her breasts and another keeping her legs separated as he licked between her legs, sucking and giving the most attention he could give to her, her hips already shaking as she felt herself about to come undone. She wasn’t really loud in bed, but Strike had learned to understand the physical signs, like the way her hand has gripping his hair pressing his face against her crotch. “Corm... fuck, Corm yes... ah!” Strike smiled licking away as she finally came. He reached for a tissue and washed his face before moving over Robin to hold her face between his hands. She opened her eyes and smiled sweetly at him.

“I love you, Robin,” said Strike looking into her eyes intensely.

“I love you more,” replied Robin, kissing him before he could argue her.

She manoeuvred for him to enter her as they kissed and while he moved slowly, she moved her hips to meet his, rolling in bed to be on top, attacking his lips while moving her hips against his, her nails scratching his back.

An hour later, as she snuggled into his sweaty chest, she smiled feeling comforted by his scent and the feel of his beating heart against her cheek.

“This is perfect,” she whispered into his chest. “Just perfect.” Strike smiled wrapping his strong arms around her and kissing the top of her head. The next day was the first Monday of September and he’d be going into Waddington to be a Reaper pilot.

“I got something for you,” Strike whispered kissing her head once more before moving to grab his bag, that was thrown on the floor beside the bed. He returned to his snuggle with Robin with a black box in his hand, and handed it to Robin.

“Why?” Robin smiled taking the box into her hands. Inside, there were two necklaces of thin silver chain with a small white golden medallion. One had a ‘C’ engraved and another, an ‘R’.

“So you always feel me close... and so I always feel you close,” Strike smiled, giving her the one with a ‘C’ and taking the other one himself. Robin grinned helping him put his on as he did the same with her, and then she looked behind the oval circle with the ‘C’. There was something engraved in yellow gold.

“Et ex mente tota, Sum presentialiter. Absens in remota.” Robin read. “What does it mean?”

“With all my heart and all my soul, I am with you. Even if I’m far away, roughly translated,” Strike smiled warmly at her. Robin’s lips opened slightly and her eyes filled with tears and she looked at him full of emotion.

“That’s beautiful, Corm...” Strike shrugged, caressing her face. His scar seemed to disappear when he looked so happy.

“I know we’ve been together for very little, Robin... but I felt it since we met. I felt something else, something special... you always made my day better just by seeing you. I knew I was yours from the start. And I want you to know I’m always here with you, even when I’m over there.”

“Cormoran I...” Robin shook her head with a smile. “You make my heart bigger, you know? I had no idea one could love like this. And I never want it to stop.”

Attracted to each other like magnets, they kissed again and this time, they didn’t stop until they were out of air.

**. . .**

**SEVEN MONTHS LATER**

**. . .**

There had been eight difficult months. Strike’s workload had him almost vanished from Earth, and most nights Robin had to settle with a phone-call before bed, when they were both knackered and not very talkative after all that Robin was studying for her PHD and working and how hard and emotionally draining was Strike’s job, full of responsibilities of life-death nature. They had had their first rows, but then they had their birthdays, full of sending each other thoughtful gifts and love letters, Halloween party at the Herberts that Strike managed to attend, Christmas at Robin’s where Strike met her family, New Year’s in St. Mawes where Robin met Strike’s people and they celebrated Ted’s 57 th birthday on January 2 nd , and Valentine’s Day with Strike’s surprise visit to London with a hundred red roses ‘for the years I want to spend with you’ and another ton of thoughtful gifts, so it hadn’t been all that bad in the end. It had also been eight months of dodging topics about Robin’s past, the rape, the aborted baby, but that only seemed to help them row a little less.

However, Robin had been sensing Strike a bit moody lately, as April approached. He looked sadder, despite how well his leg rehabilitation was going, no longer using his cane. As they walked back to Robin’s flat on April 9 th , after having gone partying to celebrate Ilsa’s 27 th birthday, Robin noticed Strike wasn’t really even listening to her. She shut up, choosing to leave him to think, and when they entered their flat and sat on the sofa, he was looking teary-eyed, so she knew she had to intervene. She knew Strike was to go again to be a pilot in Afghanistan in two days’ time, and imagined that was what was happening, he was sad, just like everyone was, but he had promised to stay in touch and be back in a couple years tops, and they could always email and call each other, and they had heard of a new programme called Skype that would allow instant messaging through countries and would come out that year, so they figured it wouldn’t be that heavily terrible and tried to cheer up. Strike had signed a 12 year contract (the minimum he could back in the day) at 21-years-old and he had only done five so far, discounting the time in medical leave, so now he had to go on with it until 2010.

“Love,” Robin moved his face to lock eyes, cupping it with her soft, warm hands. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to break-up with you.” Strike blurted out hoarsely, and Robin felt like throwing up.

“What?” Robin’s stomach sank. She looked at him in disbelief, her eyes filling with tears. Their first anniversary was just four months away, what could she possibly had done wrong? Had it been all those stupid rows? “What?!”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Strike hurried to say, visibly emotional, taking her hands. “You’re perfect. You’re my home, the one that I love the most in the world, my best friend and my favourite person. Nothing matters more to me than you and I want you to know that nothing’s changed since I gave you that necklace. My soul is yours Robin, and my heart, and all else. You’re my happily-ever-after.” He had started sobbing silently.

“Then what?” said Robin, starting to cry too. “Because I want to be with you, Corm... you’re the only one I want. You’re home... you’re all that matters to me.”

“I’m going for a long time, Robin. They called a couple days ago, I didn’t know how to tell you... it’s going to be four years in Afghanistan, Robin,” Robin’s eyes widened.

“W-well, fine! I’ll wait for you, what’s the problem? I’ll wait for you, Corm! I love you! As long as you want me, I will wait...”

“I won’t do that to you Robin, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’ve seen all my mates with wives and husbands, how much everyone suffers... I don’t want the next four years of your life to be about missing me, worrying about me, waiting for me... I want you to live your life to the fullest,” Strike breathed deeply, kissing her hands. “I love you far too much to want anything else for you. This is my call, my job, my duty... it’s not yours. Yours is to stay here, to help people, finish your post-graduate studies, become a doctor and keep helping, keep making this world a little warmer... date other people, people who don’t have their lives compromised like this, who don’t have to travel all the time like I do, who can be here for you always the way I wish I could. And I can’t quit now, Robin. I can’t quit when I made an oath, when I signed up for twelve years... There’s people dying out there, Robin. My friends, my comrades, and tons of civilians completely innocent of this mess... I need to help them. I’ve given you all my love, Robin, I’ve helped you go back to a healthy sexual life, I’ve helped heal some of your wounds, just like you’ve done with me... and now you have to keep going, okay? Keep believing, keep loving, keep making this world a little warmer. But you can’t sit and wait for me.”

“What if that’s what I want to do? What if I don’t want anyone else?” Robin felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Robin, my love,” Strike kissed her softly. “If we’re truly meant to be, we will be. If when I come back you still want me, then I’ll fucking marry you, you know? I will marry you. But I won’t steal you of the opportunity of maybe finding the right one if I’m not the one, I won’t be your strings attached, I won’t keep you on hold and make you miss what could truly be your destiny. I love you far too much, baby. Far too much. And I remember the pain of waiting for my mother to come home for the three days she was kidnapped until we found her body, waiting and waiting for her to come back... it was excruciating. I can’t put you through that for four years.”

“So this is it? We’re over?” Strike hugged Robin tightly and nodded against her shoulder.

“For now, Robin. For now the sun will come up and the night will pass and we’ll be apart... but remember this,” Strike pulled apart just enough to press the necklace he had once given her against her chest, gently. “With all my heart and soul, I am with you. Even if I’m far away. I want you to be happy. And every time you look up at the sky, every time you see a bird or a plane... I’m there. I’m watching over you. And one day I will be back and if I’m not the one you’re supposed to marry, then we’ll continue to be best friends, okay? You’re not losing me. And if we’re the one for each other then I won’t stop until we’re married, with a nice house, and living our best days together.”

“You promise?” Robin asked between tears.

“I swear, Robin.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry for hurting you so much, so sorry...” Robin sniffled.

“It is still worth it. We’re worth it,” Robin caressed his cheek, trying to calm herself. “What if you never come back?”

“Then,” Strike pressed his hand to her chest again, right between her breasts. “I’m right here with you, for the rest of your life and beyond, guarding your dreams and making sure you always feel loved. And no one can take me away from here.”

For the rest of the night, they hugged and cried, and kissed and whispered nothings, trying to comfort each other, that one could go and another could stay and it would be all right in the end. And in the airport, when everyone had to live the heartbreak of another goodbye, with promises that it’ll be the last time, that just maybe Strike could serve his last three years, once he was back, in England, Strike approached Robin, cupped her face, and gave her one last kiss, trying to muster all she meant for her.

“You are a soldier, Robin. Don’t let anyone push you down,” he whispered against her lips.

“Stay in touch,” Robin begged. “And don’t let anyone kill you.” Strike smiled at her.

“You can count on that.”

One last wave, and he was gone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! Let me know what you think, whenever's good or bad.


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